Clara Barton from her childhood was given to versifying. She was once called upon to respond to a toast to the women who went to the front. She did it in rhyme as follows:
TOAST
“THE WOMEN WHO WENT TO THE FIELD”
The women who went to the field, you say,
The women who went to the field; and pray
What did they go for? just to be in the way!—
They’d not know the difference betwixt work and play,
What did they know about war anyway?
What could they do?—of what use could they be?
They would scream at the sight of a gun, don’t you see?
Just fancy them round where the bugle notes play,
And the long roll is bidding us on to the fray.
Imagine their skirts ’mong artillery wheels,
And watch for their flutter as they flee ’cross the fields
When the charge is rammed home and the fire belches hot;—
They never will wait for the answering shot.
They would faint at the first drop of blood, in their sight.
What fun for us boys,—(ere we enter the fight;)
They might pick some lint, and tear up some sheets,
And make us some jellies, and send on their sweets,
And knit some soft socks for Uncle Sam’s shoes,
And write us some letters, and tell us the news.
And thus it was settled by common consent,
That husbands, or brothers, or whoever went,
That the place for the women was in their own homes,
There to patiently wait until victory comes.
But later, it chanced, just how no one knew,
That the lines slipped a bit, and some ’gan to crowd through;
And they went,—where did they go?—Ah; where did they not?
Show us the battle,—the field,—or the spot
Where the groans of the wounded rang out on the air
That her ear caught it not, and her hand was not there,
Who wiped the death sweat from the cold clammy brow,
And sent home the message;—“’Tis well with him now”?
Who watched in the tents, whilst the fever fires burned,
And the pain-tossing limbs in agony turned,
And wet the parched tongue, calmed delirium’s strife
Till the dying lips murmured, “My Mother,” “My Wife”!
And who were they all?—They were many, my men;
Their record was kept by no tabular pen:
They exist in traditions from father to son.
Who recalls, in dim memory, now here and there one.—
A few names were writ, and by chance live to-day;
But’s a perishing record fast fading away.
Of those we recall, there are scarcely a score,
Dix, Dame, Bickerdyke,—Edson, Harvey, and Moore,
Fales, Whittenmeyer, Gilson, Safford and Lee,
And poor Cutter dead in the sands of the sea;
And Frances D. Gage, our “Aunt Fanny” of old,
Whose voice rang for freedom when freedom was sold.
And Husband, and Etheridge, and Harlan and Case,
Livermore, Alcott, Hancock, and Chase,
And Turner, and Hawley, and Potter, and Hall.
Ah! the list grows apace, as they come at the call:
Did these women quail at the sight of a gun?
Will some soldier tell us of one he saw run?
Will he glance at the boats on the great western flood,
At Pittsburg and Shiloh, did they faint at the blood?
And the brave wife of Grant stood there with them then,
And her calm, stately presence gave strength to his men.
And Marie of Logan; she went with them too;
A bride, scarcely more than a sweetheart, ’tis true.
Her young cheek grows pale when the bold troopers ride.
Where the “Black Eagle” soars, she is close at his side,
She staunches his blood, cools the fever-burnt breath,
And the wave of her hand stays the Angel of Death;
She nurses him back, and restores once again
To both army and state the brave leader of men.
She has smoothed his black plumes and laid them to sleep,
Whilst the angels above them their high vigils keep:
And she sits here alone, with the snow on her brow—
Your cheers for her comrades! Three cheers for her now.
And these were the women who went to the war:
The women of question; what did they go for?
Because in their hearts God had planted the seed
Of pity for woe, and help for its need;
They saw, in high purpose, a duty to do,
And the armor of right broke the barriers through.
Uninvited, unaided, unsanctioned ofttimes,
With pass, or without it, they pressed on the lines;
They pressed, they implored, till they ran the lines through,
And this was the “running” the men saw them do.
’Twas a hampered work, its worth largely lost;
’Twas hindrance, and pain, and effort, and cost:
But through these came knowledge,—knowledge is power.—
And never again in the deadliest hour
Of war or of peace, shall we be so beset
To accomplish the purpose our spirits have met.
And what would they do if war came again?
The scarlet cross floats where all was blank then.
They would bind on their “brassards” and march to the fray,
And the man liveth not who could say to them nay;
They would stand with you now, as they stood with you then,
The nurses, consolers, and saviors of men.
CHAPTER XIX
ANDERSONVILLE AND AFTER
Clara Barton’s name continued on the roll of clerks in the Patent Office until August, 1865. She drew her salary as a clerk throughout the period of the Civil War, and it was the only salary that she drew during that time. Out of it she paid the clerk who took her place during the latter months of her employment, and also the rent of the room in Washington, where she stored her supplies and now and then slept. When she was at the front, she shared the rations of the army. Most of the time her food was the food of the officers of the division where she was at work. Much of the time it was the humble fare of the common soldier. Mouldy and even wormy hardtack grew to be quite familiar to her, and was eaten without complaint.
As the end of the war drew near, she discovered a field of service in which her aid was greatly needed. Every battle in the Civil War had, in addition to its list of known dead and wounded, a list of “missing.” Some of these missing soldiers were killed and their bodies not found or identified. Of the 315,555 graves of Northern troops, only 172,400 were identified. Almost half of the soldiers buried in graves known to the quartermaster of the Federal army were unidentified; 143,155 were buried in graves known to be the graves of soldiers, but with no soldier’s name to mark them. Besides these there were 43,973 recorded deaths over and above the number of graves. The total of deaths recorded was 359,528, while the number of graves, as already stated, was 315,555. As a mere matter of statistics, this may not seem to mean very much, but it actually means that nearly two hundred thousand homes received tidings of the death of a father, son, or brother, and did not know where that loved one was buried. This added to grief the element of uncertainty, and in many cases of futile hope.
Moreover, there were many other thousands of men reported missing of whom no certain knowledge could be obtained at the close of the Civil War. Some were deserters, some were bounty-jumpers, some were prisoners, some were dead. Clara Barton received countless letters of inquiry. From all over the country letters came asking whether in any hospital she had seen such and such a soldier.
Clearly foreseeing that the end of the war was in sight, Clara Barton, who had gone from City Point, where she was serving with General Butler’s army, to Washington, where she witnessed the death of her brother Stephen, brought to the attention of President Lincoln the necessity of instituting some agency for the finding of missing soldiers. She knew what her own family had suffered in the anxious months when Stephen was immured within the Confederate lines, and his relatives did not know whether he was living or dead. President Lincoln at once approved her plan, and issued a letter advising the friends of missing soldiers to communicate with Miss Barton at Annapolis, where she established her headquarters. President Lincoln’s letter was dated March 11, 1865, the day following the death of her brother Stephen. This was followed, March 25, by a letter from General Hitchcock:
Washington, D.C., March 25, 1865
For the Commanding Officer at Annapolis, Md.
Sir:The notice, which you have doubtless seen, over the name of Miss Barton, of Massachusetts, proffering her services in answering inquiries with respect to Union officers and soldiers who have been prisoners of war (or who remain so), was made by my authority under the written sanction of His Excellency the President.
The purpose is so humane and so interesting in itself that I beg to recommend Miss Barton to your kind civilities, and to say that any facilities which you may have it in your power to extend to her would be properly bestowed, and duly appreciated, not only by the lady herself, but by the whole country which is interested in her self-appointed mission.
With great resp. your obt. servant
(Signed) E. A. Hitchcock
Maj. Gen’l. Vols.