Читать книгу The Red Cross in Peace and War - Barton Clara - Страница 38

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Down the Mississippi all was changed. Two worlds could scarcely differ more. The ofttimes shoreless waste of waters; the roaring crevasse through the broken levees; the anxious ebony faces and the hungry animals that “looked up and were not fed,” among whom and which we floated, could not fail to carry our thoughts back at times to the history of the Deluge and the Ark. The simile, however, had this important difference; we were by no means so good as to be preserved, nor they so bad as to be destroyed.

Any bare description of this voyage constitutes only the woody framework of the structure. You will readily imagine that, when it should be clothed with its ever recurring incidents it would become a very different edifice. Never a day that did not bring us incidents to be remembered, sometimes sad and touching, sometimes laughable or ridiculous.

The rough, tattered and uncouth garb of the Ohio River farmer and woodsman was offset by his quick wit and sterling sense, and the rude dialect of the Southern negro was buried out of sight by his simple faith. But the most touching of all was the honest gratitude which poured out on every side.

These people adopted the Red Cross and those who bore it, and we, in turn, have held to them. We selected helpers from among them, banded them together, gave them responsibility and thus made them mutual helps to each other and to us as well, in case of subsequent disaster.

One day as we were near the left bank of the river we saw a small herd of cattle wading out far into the water for what they could reach. A few cabins stood back of them. Steaming as near as we could we made fast to the body of a small fig tree and called the negroes, men and women, to us in their skiff.

It proved to be a little neighborhood of negroes with no white “boss,” as they say, but had their own mules and cows and were farming independently. But the food and feed were gone. The government boats had passed without seeing them, and no help had come to them. Their mules and cows were starving; they had no one to apply to. They had their little church; and their elder, a good, honest-faced man, who led them onto the boat, told the story of their sufferings and danger. We selected two men and two women, formed them into a committee of distribution and wrote out formal directions and authority for them. But before presenting it to them to sign, I asked them seriously if we left these supplies with them if they thought they could share them honestly with each other and not quarrel over them.

They were silent a moment. Then the tallest of the women rose up, and with commanding gesture said: “Miss, dese tings is from de Lord; dey is not from you, caze you is from Him. He sent you to bring dem. We would not dare to quarrel ober dem things; we would not dare not to be honest wid ’em.”

I presented the paper with no further pledge. It was signed with one name and three marks. The supplies were put off on the only little spot of land that could be reached. The negroes left the boat and stood beside the pile, which seemed a little mountain in the level space of waters. We raised steam and prepared to put off, expecting as we did so some demonstration, some shout of farewell from our newfound friends on shore and held our handkerchiefs ready to wave in reply—not a sound—and as we “rounded to” and looked back, the entire group had knelt beside the bags of grain and food and not a head or hand was raised to bid us speed. A Greater than we had possessed them, and in tearful silence we bowed our heads as well and went our way.

After the first rush of danger was over and repairs commenced among the business men, it was not always easy to find faithful willing agents to distribute supplies among those who had nothing left to repair but their stomachs, and no material for this.

At Point Coupee the Mississippi sends out a false branch of thirty miles in length, forming an island, and again joining the main river at Hermitage. These are known as False River and Island. The government boats had not entered False River, and there was great want among both people and cattle.

All the way down we were besought to hold something back for this point. At Hermitage we found the one business man, owner of the boat which plied the thirty miles of river, its warehouse and all. He, of course, was the only man who could take charge of and distribute relief around the island; and Captain Trudeau was sought. He was a young, active man, full of business, just pulling out of his own disaster, and did not know how to attend to it. “Guessed the trouble was most over up there; hadn’t heard much about it lately.” We knew better and felt discouraged that persons could not be found of sufficient humanity to distribute relief when brought to them.

I was sitting heart sore and perplexed in my stateroom trying to think out a way when two rather young women of prepossessing appearance entered with a bouquet of early flowers for me, introducing themselves as Mrs. and Miss Trudeau, wife and sister of the captain. I scarcely felt gracious, but those fair womanly faces were strong to win, and I entered into conversation asking Mrs. Trudeau what she thought of the condition of the people of the island. Her face grew sad as she said in touching tones, “Indeed, I cannot say, Miss Barton; my husband’s boat runs around twice a week and I tried to go on it for a while, but the sight of such destitution and those starving cattle, mules, cows, horses and sheep were beyond my endurance. I had nothing to give them, and I could not see it, and so left off going.”

“Would you ladies take the agency of the Red Cross to deliver supplies to these people?”

I shall not forget the appropriate and womanly manner in which this delicate lady received the abrupt proposition—no hesitation, no surprise, no self-depreciation, no simpering, but the straightforward reply, “We would, most willingly and gladly, and do our best. Our warehouse could store them, our boat take and we distribute them.” The customary official document was at once drawn up and signed.

An hour later the busy captain rushed in to see how much was really expected of him.

“Captain,” I said, “I have found agents to distribute our relief, and very satisfactorily, I think, and shall be able to release you from all responsibility.” His fine face fell; he had not expected this and in spite of all did not relish being quite relieved from duty. I went on: “You will have some share in it, captain. For instance, you will supply storage in your warehouse; your boat will take supplies on any day when demanded. Your men will handle and load all material. You will, in short, provide all accommodations, do all the work, meet all the cost, obey orders implicitly, but have none of the credit! Mrs. and Miss Trudeau are my agents.”

The good fellow fairly threw up his hat. “Good! That’s just what I’m used to. It shall be done.” And it was done; but how well it was done I could not describe to you—not only wisely and well, but elegantly.

The captain’s warehouse had little empty space after our cargo of supplies had gone into it The next day but one would be the day appointed for Governor McEnnery, of Louisiana, to make at Point Coupee his re-election speech, which would call all the people of the island who could reach it to that point to see and hear the popular governor. The little steamer “Governor Wiltz” was laden with supplies, and under direction of Madame Trudeau proceeded to Point Coupee in order to meet the people, learn the needs, and inform everyone that supplies and relief were at hand. The gallant governor addressed the crowd from the deck of the “Governor Wiltz” under the Red Cross flag, and took passage on her down the river.

fWe resupplied these agents on our return. We did this all the way among both white and black. And from that time the Red Cross has had faithful, willing agents along all the uncertain track of the lower Mississippi.

Months later, in January, 1885, when a sea voyage, foreign travel, the cares of an international conference of military men, the splendor of foreign courts, much of weariness and illness had passed between, and I had thought all those little days of river work gone from memory, I found myself in the upper gallery of the New Orleans Exposition, and stepping in at a restaurant at the end of the hall was met by Colonel Lewis, the noted colored caterer of the South. He had been on the relief committee of New Orleans appointed to meet our steamer at the time of our visit in May.

He came with cordial recognition, seated me and was telling me of his success in the restaurant when all his waiters, men and women, seemed to forget their work and stood gazing at us. The colonel smiled and said, “They have caught sight of the Red Cross brooch at your neck and recognize you by it. They will come to themselves in a few minutes.”

Next day I went in again for my lunch, when Colonel Lewis brought to me a little, thin, white-haired mulatto man of seventy-three years, but still able to take charge of and direct the help at the tables, saying, “This, Miss Barton, is Uncle Amos, whom I promised yesterday to introduce to you when you came again. Uncle Amos is my most true and faithful man.” I reached out for the withered, hard, dark bony hand he gave me as he said: “Yes, Miss Barton, I wants to see and speak to you, to tell you in de name of our people how grateful dey is for what your society has done for dem. Dat is never forgot. You come to us when we had nothing. You saved what was never saved befo’ in a flood, our cattle, so dey could go on and help derselves to raise something to eat. Dey has all heard of it; all talk about it in de churches and de meetings. Our people is singular in some tings; dey never forgets a kindness. Dey hab notions. Dey hab a way of nailing up a hoss-shoe ober de do’ for luck. I want to tell you dat in a thousand little cabins all up and down dis river dey has put up a little Red Cross ober de do’ and every night before dey goes to bed dey names your name and prays God to bless you and de Red Cross dat He sent to dem in time of trouble and distress.” Uncle Amos looked straight in my face the while. Colonel Lewis wiped his eyes, and I got away as fast as I could.

It would scarcely be faithful to the subject of this relief if some mention were not made of the third trip, namely, that of the voyage up the Ohio after the fall of the waters and the attempted return of the people to their former homes.

From an editorial of the Evansville Journal, May 28, 1884, headed “Good By Red Cross,” we make an extract or two which has reference to the voyage and its purposes:

The Red Cross, having concluded its labors on the Ohio River below this point, will start to-day for the upper Ohio and go as far as Pittsburg, relieving the meritorious cases on the way.... The “Josh V. Throop,” which has been rechartered for this trip, was loaded last Saturday. A part of the load was distributed between this point and Cave-in-Rock, and the room made vacant by the lower river distribution was filled with additional stores yesterday which will be distributed up the river. The load consists of what the people in the overflowed country will want and most need. There is clothing in immense quantities, over a hundred plows, large quantities of rakes, hoes, scythes, spades, shovels, groceries, flour, meat, meal, corn, bedsteads, chairs, buckets, tubs, tables, queensware, tinware, pots, kettles, skillets, etc.

This trip was arranged in general at Cincinnati, when Miss Barton first came West. At that time her policy took definite shape and it has never changed. She saw that the government was providing for all the immediate necessities of the sufferers and looked forward to the time when the unfortunate people would come almost hopelessly back to ruined homes—come back to find houses, furniture, tools, food, everything gone—and although aid would have been extended during the calamity by the government and benevolent institutions, the ruined people would have but a poor chance to proceed in the business of life. This was the anticipated opportunity of the Red Cross; this was the time Miss Barton foresaw would be pregnant with possibilities for doing large good, and the event has fully justified her prophetic view of the situation. The load now on the “Throop” will not only provide for the house, it will do much for the farm.

It would be difficult to imagine a voyage more replete with live interest than this beautiful May passage from Evansville to Pittsburg.

The banks were dotted with the marks of torn and washed-out homes; and occasionally one found the family, from father and mother to the wee little ones, gathered about the bare spot that once was home, trying in vain to find enough of the buried timbers to recommence a framework for another house, if ever they could build it, with all the hunger and need for daily food staring them in the face.

Picture, if possible, this scene: A strange ship, with two flags, steaming up the river; it halts, turns from its course, and draws up to the nearest landing. Some persons disembark and speak a few minutes with the family; then a half dozen strong mechanics man a small boat laden with all material for constructing a one-room house, take it to the spot and commence putting it up. Directly here is a structure with floor, roof, doors, windows and walls; the boat returns for furniture. Within three hours the strange ship sails away leaving a bewildered family in a new and clean house, with a bed, bedding, table, chairs, clothing, dishes, candles, a well-made little cooking stove, with blazing fire, with all the common quota of cooking utensils, meat, meal, groceries, a plow, rake, axe, hoe, shovel, spade, hammer, hatchet and nails, etc. We ask few questions, they none; but often it proves that the little, bare, boyhood feet of that desolated father had once skipped through the dewy grass of the green hills of New England, the brave old parent of States, where great riches are slow to come, and famishing hunger never enters.

Again, referring to the Evansville Journal of May 28 we find the following:

A band of little folks in Chicago, called the “Busy Bees,” were organized in a plan to extend succor to the suffering and collected a large box of goods which they sent to Miss Barton, with the request that it might be put where it would do the most good. She was some time in finding a place where she could put it with the greatest satisfaction to the givers and the donees. She found the opportunity she had been looking for yesterday. On her last voyage a gentleman at Cave-in-Rock told her that a poor, but worthy, family was in that vicinity, and on becoming acquainted with the family Miss Barton gave them some supplies and left fifteen dollars with the gentleman aforesaid, to either give to the family or spend for them as he might think best. He concluded that it would be judiciously expended by the people for whom it was intended and accordingly turned it over to them. The woman of the family came some days afterward to the gentleman, bringing with her another woman who was very destitute, and said: “This is my neighbor, and I have come to ask you if you think Miss Barton would care if I divided my fifteen dollars with her.” “Most certainly not,” was the reply; and then, out of her penury did this poor woman give. She retained ten dollars and gave five. Yesterday Miss Barton divided the contents of the store the “Busy Bees” had gathered among these two families, consisting of eight and five persons respectively. When she was delivering the goods to the poor woman who had generously shared with her neighbor, Miss Barton gave her back her five dollars, and said: “You have read where it is said, He that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord, and He has sent it back already.”

On February 11, 1884, Congress, in response to appeals from Ohio, Kentucky and West Virginia, appropriated $300,000 for the relief of the people who had lost their homes and other property by the Ohio River floods. On February 15, the first appropriation having been considered hardly sufficient to meet the demands, $200,000 more were appropriated for the same purpose, making $500,000 in all to be expended under the direction of the War Department. A boat load of supplies was sent down the river from Pittsburg; two boats left Cincinnati, one going up the river and the other down; one boat went down the river from Louisville and a fifth boat was sent down the river from Evansville. Afterward some additional boats were sent out from other places. Between February 15 and March 15, 536,000 rations were distributed by the government at a cost of $350,000. The remaining $150,000 were transferred to the Mississippi flood relief.

In the official report of the relief furnished to the Ohio River flood sufferers, written by R.P.M. Ames, Assistant Surgeon U.S. Marine Hospital Service, Evansville, Ind., he speaks as follows of the part taken by the Red Cross in this work: