“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.