Clara Barton.
PEOPLE, LIKE JACK RABBITS—NO “SHOW-WOMAN”
In 1900 a devastating flood visited Galveston. Thousands of human lives were destroyed. For two miles back from the shore not a house remained standing. Only here and there on the barren sands were seen the wreckage of the storm-swept city. Suffering and death held sway in that city of once happy homes. Clara Barton, with a corps of able assistants, was there having come from Washington at the urgent solicitation of the authorities of the City of Galveston.
From overwork and nervous strain she had been taken ill. She was in bed at the Tremont Hotel. For three weeks her life hung in the balance. The writer, with a party of California tourists, happened to be in the city on his way east. He incidentally “dropped in” the hotel, only to learn of the serious condition of his friend. Fanny Ward was standing guard at the door of the sick room. Undaunted, the writer ventured to suggest: “I’d like to see Miss Barton.” “Well, sir, you can’t see Miss Barton.” “Why not?” “She is ill, and nobody is permitted to see her.” “But she is a friend of mine.” “That makes no difference. I have orders from her physician not to let anybody go to her room. No one but the nurse has been permitted to enter this room for three weeks.” “Well, if that’s so, I don’t expect to see her, but kindly take in my card.” “No, I’ll not do that either.” “Well, it seems strange to me that I cannot at least send a card of sympathy to my friend.” “Oh, well, if you insist, I’ll take in your card, but it won’t do you any good.” “All right, I insist.”
The messenger returned, and reported that Miss Barton wanted to see me and would be ready in about fifteen minutes, but she could see no one else in the party. As I entered the room, she was half sitting and half reclining in her bed, having two large pillows at her back. She had her hair neatly arranged, a pink bow adjusted tastefully at the neck, a little white shawl hanging loosely over her shoulders and otherwise attired as for a state occasion, as similarly was her custom when receiving any friend.
Miss Barton: “Mr. —— I am glad to see you. The Doctor said two weeks ago that I had but one chance to live. I told him that I would take that chance. I did; and I know I am going to get well.”
Mr. ——: “Miss Barton, do you know that on the barren sands between here and the shore they already have two or three ‘shacks’ going up?”
Miss Barton: “That does not surprise me. People are like jack-rabbits. Scared out of their nice warm nests, they soon forget and return from where they started. That whole sand waste will soon be built on again, and the people will forget that there has been a flood.”
M. ——: “Miss Barton, there is a very wealthy young lady in our party who wants to see you.”
Miss Barton: “But I cannot see her.”