Toward noon on Memorial Day the bustle of preparation to go downtown to the procession and oration seemed to arouse a new impulse of gratitude to the soldiers’ friend, Miss Clara Barton, which spread rapidly through Our Home, and soon organized itself in a programme of proceedings for the evening, when she should have rested a little from the fatigue of her participation in the public celebration.
By six o’clock a goodly number of men and women and children had gathered in Brightside and on the surrounding lawn. Soon this company, consisting of doctors and other officials, the stronger patients and helpers from the Cure, a few near-by neighbors, and the inmates of Brightside, were marshaled two by two on the walk before the gate. Of the hundred nosegays which the girls had hastily tied up and heaped on a server, none were left when each person had taken one; and these, with numerous “flags a-floating,” made the procession gay as it moved on, led by the clergy. The Conesus brass band, taking tea at the seminary, had patriotically agreed to add to the dignity of the enterprise by their numbers and their music. Meanwhile one of the company had casually (apparently) in a neighborly way dropped into Miss Barton’s parlor, and lured her on to the front piazza in time to witness the approach as the allies joined their forces. Being entirely taken by surprise, she could only exclaim to her attendant, “What does it all mean? What shall I do?” when she saw the battalion bearing down—rather up—on her castle. Evidently she was completely subjugated without a gun being fired, and looked helplessly and speechlessly around on the lines of exultant faces which, filing right and left, had environed the piazza in a semicircle. It still required some gentle force, however, to seat her on the chair in readiness for her. At this juncture Miss Austin, stepping forward, said:
Miss Barton: After joining our sympathies with our fellow citizens at large in paying a tribute of respect and gratitude to the brave men who fought and suffered and died for their country’s salvation, the inmates of Our Home come with gladness to greet a living woman—one who worked and suffered and gave her strength and health in alleviating the pains and sorrows, the homesickness and heart-sickness of our soldiers. And we are thankful that your mission was not alone to our soldiers, but that you represented a vastly broader and nobler sentiment than mere patriotism—that you were actuated by that grand humanity which forbade you even in war-times to know any North or any South; but that every man to whom you could in any way minister was your brother. We rejoice in this, because you then represented the selfsame spirit which must yet bridge over the chasm that has hitherto divided the two sections and make us one united brotherhood—a happy and prosperous country.
But, dear Miss Barton, your life and labors have carried you beyond our country, and through you we hold fraternal bonds to the whole world. In foreign countries and in a foreign war, you spent your sympathies and your efforts, not on the Germans, nor on the French, nor on any nationality; but everywhere, every man, every woman, every little child who needed help or loving succor, received these from you in the full measure of your capacity to bestow.
We come, then, to lay our honors at your feet as a citizen of the world, as a friend to humanity, as a lover of your race; recognizing the work which you have done as a foreshadowing of that time when men shall beat their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning hooks, when nations shall not lift up sword against nations, neither shall they learn war any more.
Miss Austin then introduced Reverend Miss Anna Oliver, of Passaic, New Jersey, who said:
The feeling of enthusiastic admiration with which I have long regarded one whose course has reflected honor upon her country, upon womanhood and humanity, prevent me from making a set speech on this occasion.
Several years ago I had the pleasure, Miss Barton,—I may say the sad pleasure,—of visiting Andersonville Prison, and the cemetery laid out under your supervision, placing a flower on each of those several thousand graves. During that visit through the South, I frequently heard the name of Miss Barton mentioned with gratitude and love, both by those who had served in the Confederate and in the Union armies.
War is terrible, and we all know, of course, that no such thing as a necessary war ever occurred. But as long as wars are actualities, how blessed is the thought that the barbarities of past ages may be superseded by the gentle Christian ministrations, a representative of which we delight to honor to-day.
We mourn the fratricidal strife
That digs each soldier’s grave;
We strew the flowers on the sod
In honor of the brave;
But most of all we rev’rence those
Who seek man’s life to save.
They marched on the advancing foe
They nobly fought and fell;
But there were those attending near,
’Mid shower of shot and shell,
As brave in a diviner cause,
Who did their part as well.