Clara Barton: A Centenary Tribute to the World's Greatest Humanitarian / Founder of the American Red Cross Society, Author of the American Amendment to the International Red Cross Convention of Geneva, Founder of the National First Aid Association of America

by Charles Sumner Young

TIMID CHILD—TIMID WOMAN

Fear is relative. The fear of death by flames is greater than by water. The fear not to do is ofttimes greater than the fear to do. The fear of failure is supplanted by courage. To the sensitive nature the fear that others may suffer impels to the greatest courage. Despite innate fear, courage is uppermost in the minds of those who would achieve results. The most renowned in the fine arts, in oratory, in patriotism, in the humanities, are those by nature timid.

John B. Gough and Clara Barton at one time lived in the same town; were personal friends; in the lecture season, successively talked from the same platform. These two Americans were each as timid, probably, as ever appeared before a public audience. But each achieved an enviable reputation as a platform lecturer.

The morning following one of his inimitable temperance lectures, I remarked: “Mr. Gough, I wish I had your assurance before an audience.” “Young man,” he replied, “you don’t know me. I have given thousands of lectures, but I never rise to address an audience that my knees don’t knock together, from stage fright. Last night, as I arose to address that splendid body of college boys, I was scared stiff; for some moments I was so frightened I couldn’t utter a word.”

In his autobiography he wrote: “For thirty-seven years I have been a public speaker, but have never known the time when I did not dread an audience. Often that fear amounts to positive suffering. In my suffering, trembling seizes every nerve.”

Clara Barton was a timid child; so much so as to annoy her parents, and other friends. When about eight years of age she was sent away to school in the hope that, among strangers, she would become at ease in the presence of others. At school she grew tired; became thin and pale; said she was hungry, but refused to eat. It was suspected that it was all on account of her timidity, and that she might die of starvation. Because she dared not eat, the teacher returned her to her home. In referring to this experience, and her later experiences in the presence of strangers, a few years before she died, she said: “To this day I would rather stand behind the lines of artillery at Antietam, or cross the pontoon bridge under fire at Fredericksburg, than to preside at a public meeting.”