“Last night a soldier seized me by the arm and cried: ‘If you are a woman with a woman’s heart, go in there and do whatever you can.’
“‘In there’ meant behind a barricade of brush, covered with a blanket that had been hastily thrown together to form a rude shelter. I went in and saw one of my own sex lying on the bare grass naked, her clothing torn to shreds; scattered over the green beside her. She was moaning pitifully, and it needed no words to tell a woman what the matter was, I bade my man escort to find a doctor, or at least send more women at once. He ran off and soon two sympathetic ladies hastened into the shelter. In an hour my escort returned with a young medical student. Under the best ministrations we could find, a new life was ushered into this hell, which, a few hours before, was the fairest among cities.
“‘There have been many such cases,’ said the medical student. ‘Many of the mothers have died—few of the babies have lived. I, personally, know of nine babies that have been born in the park to-day. There must have been many others here, among the sand hills, and at the Presidio.’”
“Think of it, you happy women who have become mothers in comfortable homes, attended with every care that loving hands can bestow. Think of the dreadful plight of these poor members of your sex. The very thought of it is enough to make the hearts of women burst with pity.
“To-day I walked among the people crowded on the Panhandle. Opposite the Lyon Street entrance, on the north side, I saw a young woman sitting tailor-fashion in the roadway, which, in happier days, was the carriage boulevard. She held a dishpan and was looking at her reflection in the polished bottom, while another girl was arranging her hair. I recognized a young wife, whose marriage to a prominent young lawyer eight months ago was a gala event among that little handful of people who clung to the old-time fashionable district of Valencia Street, like the Phelan and Dent families, and refused to move from that aristocratic section when the new-made, millionaires began to build their palaces on Nob Hill and Pacific Heights. I spoke to the young woman about the disadvantages of making her toilet under such untoward circumstances.
“‘Ah, Julia, dear, you must stay to luncheon,’ she said, extending her fingers just as though she stood in her own drawing-room.”
MISERY DRIVES SOME INSANE.
“I looked at the maid in astonishment, for I had never met the young society woman before. The maid shook her head and whispered when she got the chance:
“‘My mistress is not in her right mind.’
“‘Where is her husband?’ I asked.