We raised money by different devices. Charity balls were given, and Russian receptions, and kind-hearted musicians sang. The opera of the Mikado, given in Davenport, helped our fund by over $800. There were other unions of the appeal to the sense of humanity and the appetite for amusement, but in general we simply asked for money in an honest, direct way, and it was given to us.
In the cities and towns we asked for money with which to buy corn; in the country we asked for corn itself. Mrs. Duncombe and Mrs. Ketcham sent out wagon solicitors, who drove from farm to farm. The Iowa farmers are very generous, and the wagons were heaped long before the circuit could be completed. The result of the united efforts of men and women was the largest ship-load of corn that ever sailed from our shores.
It is not only the result of our labors which makes the memory of that hard-working, anxious time precious; it is, most of all, the revelation that came to me, day after day, of the noble qualities of mine own people. I remember how, in one of the counties, a hail-storm had pelted the corn-fields and laid waste the harvest. We were questioning whether, at the same time that we were asking aid for others, we should ask for our own sufferers, when one of the chairmen received a letter from Adair, saying: "We're all right; we don't want anything. What are you thinking about? We've collected a car-load of corn for the Russians. Where shall we send it?"
And I remember very tenderly how the committees of women worked. Their tact, their enthusiasm, their unselfish loyalty, will always rise before me as I think of that time. And their virtues of omission were as shining as those of commission. We had our difficulties, our disappointments; we were harassed and discouraged, and a few times despairing; but in all that time, during which I had hundreds of letters and scores of meetings and innumerable private consultations with my comrades, I am not haunted by the humiliating spectre of even a single squabble. Nor did any of the chairmen report such a thing out of her own experience. Yet, for the credit of the sex, I would not wish to think that one of the husbands was right when he said: "You've broken the world's record. You haven't had a racket!"
But now is it not easy to understand why, of the experiences of my life, this is the one that is the jewel of my memory? And it is the old story of the pebble and the circle in the water.
A BAD PLACE TO BE BORN IN.
There are a great many advantages in being born an American citizen. One can hope to become President of the United States and various other high and mighty things; but, after all, the greatest privilege is in being born among a people who are free from foolish superstitions. Suppose you had been born on the Congo River, for instance. How would you like that when you consider some of their beliefs? It is told by persons supposed to be well informed that the people inhabiting the district round the Congo River share with the Ashantees, of whom we have recently heard such a lot, the belief that if their high priest, the Chitome, were to die a natural death the whole world would follow suit at once, and would dissolve into air, for it is, according to them, only held together by his personal will.
Accordingly, when the pontiff falls ill, and the illness is serious enough to make a fatal termination probable, a successor is nominated, and he, so soon as he is consecrated, enters the high priest's hut and clubs him or strangles him to death. A somewhat similar custom obtains in Unyore when the King falls seriously ill, and seems likely to die, for his wives to kill him. The same rule is followed if he gets beyond a certain age, for an old Unyore prophecy states that the throne will pass away from the family in the event of the King dying a natural death.