To think of sitting here through an “investigation” by the country I have tried to serve,—“in the interest of harmony,” they say, when I have never spoken a discordant word in my life, meaningly, but have worked on in silence under the fire of the entire press of the U. S. for twelve months,—forgiven all, offered friendship,—and am still to be “investigated,” for “inharmony,” “unbusinesslike methods,” and too many years—all of these I cannot help. I am still unanimously bidden to work on for “life,” bear the burden of an organization—meet its costs myself—and am now threatened with the expenses of an “investigation.”
Can you wonder that I ask a bridle track? And that some other country might look inviting to me?
Mr. Young, this unhappy letter is a poor return to make for your friendly courtesy, but so long my dark thoughts have turned to you that I cannot find myself with the privilege of communicating with you without expressing them. I cannot think where I have found the courage to do it, but I have.
I know how unwise a thing it seems but if the pressure is too great the bands may break, that may be my case, and fearing that my better judgment might bid me put these sheets in the fire—I send them without once glancing over. You will glance them over and put them in the fire. Forgive me. You need not forget, but kindly remember, rather, that they are the wail of an aching heart and that is all. Nature has provided a sure and final rest for all the heart aches that mortals are called to endure.
If you are in the East again, and I am here, I pray you come to me.
Receive again my thanks and permit me to remain,
Your friend,
(Signed) Clara Barton.
Earth naught nobler knows
Than is the victim brave beneath his cross.