This proposition of organizing a large field hospital with women nurses was at first generally looked upon as impracticable. It was urged that it had never been done, that women could not endure the hardships of field life, and that they would be an embarrassment in the camps, and so it was altogether as an experiment that the nurses were allowed to begin their work at the Sternberg Hospital. Something of the success of the experiment in changing the attitude of the surgeons toward the idea of women nurses in the field is shown by the following letter from Lieutenant-Colonel Hoff to Miss Cromelien, in which he says:

The following tribute from Major Giffen, the surgeon in command at the Sternberg Hospital, is equally significant:

About the first of August the arrival of the transports from Santiago, and the opening of Camp Wikoff, at Montauk Point, afforded another great opportunity. The call, however, was sudden, and no chance was given to the auxiliary to provide tents specially fitted for the comfort of the nurses, as was done at the Sternberg Hospital. By special arrangement with the surgeon-general, the nurses ordered by him to Montauk reported to the acting president of the auxiliary and were sent forward immediately, or, as the occasion demanded, were cared for over night. Much has been said in criticism of the hospital conditions at Montauk, and too little of the fine service of the surgeons and nurses, who, under trying conditions, worked day and night to save the lives of their patients. Under the efficient management of Mrs. L.W. Quintard, of St. Luke’s Hospital, the nurses took up their labors with enthusiasm and with a determination to make the best of existing circumstances. By personal visits to the camp the acting president was enabled to ameliorate in many ways the hard conditions under which the nurses were so bravely working. Supplies of all sorts were sent down with the least possible delay.

In the Detention Hospital, at Camp Wikoff, the fifty nurses to whose special needs Miss Virginia C. Young devoted herself on behalf of the auxiliary, cared for nearly eighteen hundred seriously ill soldiers, many of whom had had yellow fever in Cuba, and were suffering, when brought to the hospital, from typhoid fever, pernicious malarial fever and dysentery. A few had measles or diphtheria. Sixty-two, or rather less than 4 per cent, of these patients died, a result which is believed to bear striking testimony to the quality and success of the care they received. In a graphic account of her experience at this hospital Miss Young writes:

Through the energy of Mrs. M.H. Willard, agent for the auxiliary, and with the permission of Colonel Forwood, a diet kitchen was opened at the General Hospital, at Camp Wikoff, for the sick and convalescent soldiers. The expense of maintaining this kitchen was shortly afterwards entirely assumed by the government and by the Massachusetts Volunteer Aid Association. So successful was its operation under Mrs. Willard’s administration that four additional kitchens were opened. It is estimated that more than twenty thousand specially prepared meals for the sick and the convalescent have been served from these five kitchens.

When the rooms of the Long Island City Relief Station were opened, near the railroad station, this auxiliary offered to supply the services of a physician and nurses, and continued to do so until, by reason of the removal of the troops, the need for the relief station ceased. One does not soon forget the first days when the soldiers began to arrive, the kindly interest felt by every one in and about the railroad station, the eagerness of the small newsboy to show the soldiers where the “Red Cross” was. To the soldier himself, weakened by illness and the fatigue of the journey, the place seemed a veritable haven of rest. Arrangements were made by the ladies in charge to send the very sick men immediately to the hospitals in Brooklyn and New York. The others were given proper food and cared for until morning, or for the several days that sometimes elapsed until the soldier was able to continue his journey.

Through the efforts of Mrs. Whitelaw Reid, and by the kindness of the president of the Wagner Car Company, the cars “Franconia” and “Wayne” were placed at the service of the auxiliary, and under its direction were fitted up and maintained as hospital cars. Surgeons and nurses accompanied these cars on the trips from Montauk, and ministered to those among the returning soldiers who needed special care. At Montauk itself the tents erected by the Red Cross Relief Committee at the railway station, a distance of two or three miles from the hospital and camp, were supplied with nurses by the auxiliary.

Some excellent emergency work was accomplished by the auxiliary at the time of the outbreak of typhoid fever at Camp Black. Twelve nurses were selected, and at the urgent request of the acting president, Miss Irene Sutliffe of the New York Hospital, consented to take them to the camp on September 4, and organize a hospital under conditions which would have daunted the courage of most women. Nothing but tents and beds were provided for the reception of the one hundred and fifty patients, most of whom were very ill. Supplies of all kinds, including a complete diet kitchen outfit, were sent to the camp by the auxiliary. Additional nurses were furnished, and every effort was made to aid Miss Sutliffe and her staff in their arduous labors. It is gratifying to learn that in this way much suffering, and perhaps loss of life, was averted. On September 20 the patients then remaining were transferred to the Nassau Hospital, Hempstead.

The destruction of Admiral Cervera’s fleet, and the landing of the Spanish prisoners at Seavey’s Island, Portsmouth, N.H., gave the auxiliary another opportunity for service. Learning that it was impossible for the government surgeons to obtain nurses in the neighborhood of Portsmouth, the acting president made a personal request to the surgeon-general of the navy to authorize the sending of six men nurses. This application was granted. In the two pavilions temporarily erected for the patients the nurses went to work with enthusiasm. They found the patients easily managed and always grateful for what was done for them. The nurses were able to excite feelings of such trust and confidence that these same patients, when placed upon the “City of Rome” for their homeward journey, asked that the Red Cross nurses should go with them to Spain. This request was granted, and Mr. Brayman, who was in charge of the party, reports that the nurses were treated with much courtesy and cordiality, and that the voyage was accomplished without the loss of a single patient. It will be remembered that at the time of the sailing of the “City of Rome” many of the Spanish prisoners were not expected to live to reach their native land. At Santander the nurses were warmly welcomed by the Spanish representatives of the Red Cross Society. Mr. Brayman speaks of meeting one of his former patients in the streets of Santander, still wearing the United States uniform. On inquiry, the man replied, “This blouse was given me with three stripes and two stars. I shall wear them all.” At Bilboa the nurses received an especially cordial reception, and the American and Spanish representatives of the society which bears for its emblem, “Neutrality, Humanity,” exchanged brassards. Mr. Brayman afterward sent the brassard which was received by such exchange to a representative of the auxiliary in New York, with a letter from which the following extract is taken: “It gives me great pleasure to tell you that I do not believe any country can boast of a truer or nobler son than the young Spanish gentleman who formerly wore this emblem. His mother expressed a wish that one of the nurses might become ill there, that she might show how an American would be cared for by her.”

Nurses were also sent by the auxiliary to the Eighth Regiment Home at Hunter’s Island, and to the Home for Soldiers opened by the citizens of Sag Harbor, Long Island.

Supplementing these various branches of hospital service, two homes for convalescent soldiers were established under the direction of the auxiliary. One of these, Eunice Home of Chapel Hill, beautifully situated at Atlantic Highlands, N.J., was offered to the auxiliary by the trustees of the Chapel Hill Fresh Air Mission. Miss M.E. Melville and Dr. G.R. Winder were placed in charge, with a staff of nurses and servants, and several hundred soldiers have been cared for. Through the liberality of the Church of the Incarnation, our other home, the Summer Home Rest at Peekskill, was opened September 19, and has, aided by the untiring efforts of Mrs. W. Lanman Bull, cared for forty-two convalescent men. Every effort has been made in these homes to make the men happy, and they have returned to their regiments greatly improved in health, and in many cases quite recovered.

But it was not the soldiers alone who demanded the aid of the auxiliary. The nurses themselves have also been objects of anxious care. Unless their capacity for efficient service had been maintained, all our efforts would have been paralyzed. While in New York awaiting orders, they were placed in excellent boarding houses, through a satisfactory arrangement made by the auxiliary with the Home Bureau of No. 15 West Forty-second street. At every camp and hospital where they were stationed we undertook to supply them with pure water and milk, with nourishing food, and such other comforts as would increase their efficiency and remind them of the support and sympathy they were receiving at home. When any nurse has succumbed to the strain and fallen ill, every effort has been made to relieve her suffering and to restore her speedily to health. And to aid that happy result, a home for convalescent nurses, through the generosity of Mrs. Alice Dean Ward, was opened early in November at Rowayton, Conn.

THE WOMEN WHO WENT TO THE FIELD.

The following poem is here inserted because of its prophetic application to those women who, during the Spanish-American War, went bravely to field and camp to minister to the sick and the wounded. The poem was read by Clara Barton at the farewell Reception and Banquet by the Ladies of the Potomac Corps, at Willard’s Hotel, Washington, D.C., Friday evening, November 18, 1892, in response to the toast:

“The Women Who Went to the Field.”

[At this point, as by one impulse, every man in the room sprang to his feet and, led by General W.W. Dudley, gave three rousing cheers, while Mrs. Logan, with her beautiful white head bent low, vainly sought to staunch the fast-falling tears; the air was white with the sympathetic ’kerchiefs of the ladies, and the imposing figure of Clara Barton standing with uplifted arm, as if in signal for the cheers, so grandly given, completed the historic and never-to-be-forgotten scene.]

Note.—Returning home from a journey, Miss Barton was notified in the afternoon that she would be expected to attend the banquet and respond to the toast, “The Women Who Went to the Field.” As there was little or no time for preparation, the foregoing poem was hastily written, and may almost be considered as impromptu.

CUBA AND THE CUBAN CAMPAIGN.

We had scarcely returned from Armenia when paragraphs began to appear in the press from all sections of the country, connecting the Red Cross with some undefined method of relief for Cuba. These intimations were both ominous and portentous for the future, something from which we instinctively shrunk and remained perfectly quiet. “The murmurs grew to clamors loud,” and, I regret to say, not always quite kind. There were evidently two Richmonds in the field, the one ardently craving food alone, simply food for the dying. The other wanting food and arms. They might have properly been classed under two distinct heads. The one, merely the friends of humanity in its simple sense; the other, friends of humanity also, but what seemed to them a broader and deeper sense, far more complex. They sought to remove a cause as well as an effect, and the muffled cry of “Cuba Libre” became their watchword. Naturally, any general movement by the people in favor of the former must have the effect to diminish the contributions of the latter, too small at best for their purpose, and must be wisely discouraged. Thus, whenever an unsuspecting movement was set on foot by some good-hearted, unsophisticated body of people, and began to gain favor with the public and the press, immediately would appear most convincing counter paragraphs to the effect that it would be useless to send relief, especially by the Red Cross:

First, it would not be permitted to land.

Next, whatever it took would be either seized outright, or “wheedled” out of hand by the Spanish authorities in Havana.

That the Spaniards would be only too glad to have the United States send food and money for the use of Havana.

Again, that the Red Cross being international, would affiliate with Spain, and ignore the “Cuban Red Cross” already working there and here. As if poor Cuba, with no national government or treaty-making power, could have a legitimate Red Cross that other nations could recognize or work with.

That doubtless the American Red Cross, flushed with victory in Armenia, would be only too glad to enter on another campaign, direct another field, and handle its donations. Tired, heart-sore and needing rest, we were compelled to read columns of such reports, and understanding that it was not without its political side and might increase to proportions dangerous to the good name of the Red Cross, we felt compelled to take steps in self-protection. Accordingly through the proper official authorities of both nations, we addressed to the government of Spain at Madrid a request for royal permission for the American Red Cross to enter Cuba and distribute, unmolested, among its starving reconcentrado population such relief as the people of America desired to send.

This communication brought back from Spain perhaps the most courteous assent and permission ever vouchsafed by a proud government to an individual request, especially when that request was in its very nature a rebuke to the methods of the government receiving it. Not only was permission granted by the crown, the government, the Captain-General at Cuba, and the Queen Regent, but to the assent of the latter were added her majesty’s gracious thanks for the kindly thought.

This cablegram was published broadcast through the Associated and United Presses in its exact text, with all official signatures duly appended, and over my signature the statement that the American Red Cross was ready to enter upon the relief of the starving Cubans whenever the people of the United States should place at its disposal a sum in money or material sufficient to warrant a commencement of the work.

Strange to say, so sensational had the tone of our press become, so warped the judgment, so vitiated the taste of its readers, that in the hurried scramble between headlines and the waste basket they failed to discriminate between this announcement of clear, true official relations on the part of a government, with a body which it held sufficiently responsible to deal with officially, and the sensational guess of some representative of the press.

It will seem a little singular to any one who should ever take the time to coolly read this account (if such there be), that in response to this announcement not one dollar or one pound ever came or was offered, and the cry for “starving Cuba” still went on as if no door had been opened. Had the nation gone mad, or what had happened to it?

Societies of women were formed to raise money; among these the most notable, influential and worthy ladies in American society. They labored, instant in season and out of season, with small results; perfectly unable to comprehend their want of success.

I think that dear Mrs. Thurston, one of their most ardent members, came to comprehend it a little by the strong, prophetic words she spoke to me as months later in Havana our carriages rattled and thundered over rocky streets from one hospital of death to another. And this only comparatively a few hours before the cruel, restless sea surged out of that worn, frail body the soul that glowed with the flame of humanity, justice and pity to the last.

This state of things continued through the year of 1897, but as the present year of ’98 opened the reports of suffering that came were not to be borne quietly, and I decided to confer with our government and learn if it had objections to the Red Cross taking steps of its own in direct touch with the people of the country, and proposing their co-operation in the work of relief. I beg pardon for the personality of the statement which follows, but it is history I am asked to write:

Deciding to refer my inquiry to the Secretary of State, I called at his department to see him, but learned that he was with the President. This suiting my purpose, I followed to the Executive Mansion, was kindly informed that the President and Secretary were engaged on a very important matter and had given orders not to be interrupted. As I turned to leave I was recalled with, “Wait a moment, Miss Barton, and let me present your card.” Returning immediately, I entered the President’s room to find these two men in a perplexed study over the very matter which had called me. Distressed by the reports of the terrible condition of things so near to us, they were seeking some remedy, and producing their notes just taken revealed the fact that they had decided to call me into conference.

The conference was then held. It was decided to form a committee in New York, to ask money and material of the people at large to be shipped to Cuba for the relief of the reconcentrados on that island. The call would be made in the name of the President, and the committee naturally known as the “President’s Committee for Cuban Relief.” I was courteously asked if I would go to New York and assume the oversight of that committee. I declined in favor of Mr. Stephen E. Barton, second vice-president of the National Red Cross, who, on being immediately called, accepted; and with Mr. Charles Schieren as treasurer and Mr. Louis Klopsch, of the Christian Herald, as the third member, the committee was at once. established; since known as the Central Cuban Relief Committee.

The committee was to solicit aid in money and material for the suffering reconcentrados in Cuba, and forward the same to the Consul-General at Havana for distribution. My consent was then asked by all parties to go to Cuba and aid in the distribution of the shipments of food as they should arrive. After all I had so long offered, I could not decline, and hoping my going would not be misunderstood by our authorities there, who would regard me simply as a willing assistant, I accepted. The Consul-General had asked the New York Committee to send to him an assistant to take charge of the warehouse and supplies in Havana. This request was also referred to me, and recommending Mr. J.K. Elwell, nephew of General J.J. Elwell, of Cleveland, Ohio, a gentleman who had resided six years in Santiago in connection with its large shipping interests, a fine business man and speaking Spanish, I decided to accompany him, taking no member of my own staff, but going simply in the capacity of an individual helper in a work already assigned.

On Saturday, February 6, we left Washington for Cuba via Jacksonville, Tampa and Key West.

Thus, with that simple beginning, with no thought on the part of any person but to do unobtrusively the little that could be done for the lessening of the woes of a small island of people, whom adverse circumstances, racial differences, the inevitable results of a struggle for freedom, the fate of war, and the terrible features of a system of subjugation of a people, which, if true, is too dark to name, was commenced the relief movement of 1898 which has spread not alone over the entire United States of America from Maine to California, from Vancouver to the Gulf of Mexico, but from the Indias on the west, to the Indias on the east, and uniting in its free-will offerings the gifts of one-third of the best nations in the world.

HAVANA.

“We reached Havana February 9, five weeks ago, and in all the newness of a strange country, with oriental customs, commenced our work.”

The above entry I find in my diary. In speaking of conditions as found, let me pray that no word shall be taken as a criticism upon any person or people. Dreadful as these conditions were, and rife as hunger, starvation and death were on every hand, we were constantly amazed at the continued charities as manifested in the cities, and small, poor villages of a people so over-run with numbers, want and woe for months, running into years; with all business, all remuneration, all income stopped, killed as dead as the poor, stark forms around them, it was wonderful that they still kept up their organizations, municipal and religious, and gave not of their abundance, but of their penury; that still a little ration of food went out to the dens of woe. That the wardrobe was again and again parceled out; that the famishing mother divided her little morsel with another mother’s hungry child; that two men sat down to one crust, and that the Spanish soldier shared, as often seen, the loaf—his own half ration—with the eager-eyed skeleton reconcentrado, watching him as he ate. In another instance the recognition might have been less kind it is true, for war is war, and all humanity are not humane.

The work was commenced in earnest. I still turn the pages of the diary, which says: “We were called on deck to look at Morro Castle, which, grim and dark in the bright morning sunlight, skirts the bay like a frowning ogre.”

We were met at the dock and driven to Hotel Inglaterra, where letters of welcome awaited us. After paying our official respects, our first business was to meet the committees appointed for the distribution of food. We found them pleasant gentlemen. We were notified of the arrival of the steamship “Vigilancia,” with fifty tons of supplies, sent by the New York Committee; took carriage and drove to the dock. It was a glad sight to see her anchors dropping down into the soil of that starved spot of the earth. We boarded her, met the gentlemanly officers, and saw the goods being put on the lighters. This was the largest quantity of supplies that had yet arrived by any one steamship. In returning to land, we threaded our way through the transports and yachts—among the latter the “New York Journal,” that had just taken Julian Hawthorne across from Key West—and grandest of all, the polished, shining battleship “Maine.” She towered above them like a monarch, or rather like an elegant visitor whom all the household felt bound to respect. On landing, we resumed our carriage and drove to Los Fosos, a large, long building filled with reconcentrados,—over four hundred women and children in the most pitiable condition possible for human beings to be in, and live; and they did not live, for the death record counted them out a dozen or more every twenty-four hours, and the grim, terrible pile of rude black coffins that confronted one at the very doorway, told to each famishing applicant on her entrance what her exit was likely to be.

We went from room to room, each filled to repletion—not a dozen beds in all. Some of the inmates could walk, as many could not,—lying on the floors in their filth—some mere skeletons; others swollen out of all human shape. Death-pallid mothers, lying with glazing eyes, and a famishing babe clutching at a milkless breast. Let me attempt no further description. The massacres of Armenia seemed merciful in comparison.

We went our rounds, and sought the open air; drove to another building of like character, but in a little better condition—one hundred and fifty-six inmates. These persons had been recommended by someone, who paid a little for each, and thus kept them from daily starvation. From here to the third building (the Casino), of about an equal number, still a little better off.

From here to the fourth building (La Yocabo)—two hundred and fifty persons, the best of the reconcentrados. The sisters of charity had recently taken hold of these, and cleanliness and order commenced to appear. The children had books, were being taught, and rooms were fitted out for some kind of industrial training. This place seemed like heaven in comparison.

From here to the fifth building, a distributing house, where American rations were given out on Sundays to great crowds of people who thronged the streets.

This finished, we drove to our warehouse, the San Jose, where our supplies were stored. Here was what remained of the several shipments which had preceeded us, the result of the tireless and well directed efforts of the New York Committee, only so recently established, and so new in its work. Possibly three hundred tons of flour, meal, rice, potatoes, canned meat, fruit, bacon, lard, condensed and malted milk, quinine, some of which had come by the first shipment, showing how difficult the distribution had been found to be; and it was not strange that a “warehouse man” had been asked for by the Consul General. Surely Mr. Elwell had not a sinecure.

Somehow the report got abroad that we had brought money for distribution, and a thousand people thronged the hotel.

We found among our supplies large quantities of flour, and the people had no way of cooking it. There are no ovens in these oriental countries except those of the baker. Consequently only he could make bread of flour. We found a baker with whom we arranged to take our flour and return bread in its place at a fair percentage.

“The Consul General has named a desire to have an orphanage created, and asked of me to find a building, and establish such an institution. I commence a search among the apparently suitable buildings of the town, but regretting always that I have not his knowledge of the city and its belongings. Up to this time the search, although vigilant, has been fruitless. Still there are only three days of it all since our arrival, and to-morrow will be Sunday.”

This hopeful entry ended the first half week of life in Cuban relief. Up to this moment no American food had ever entered Los Fosos, as the institution was under Spanish military and municipal direction. How to get our distributors into proper and peaceful aid there, if not into control, was a politic question.

The diary continues: “That Sunday morning, fine, clear and warm, brought three matters of interest to our attention:

“First. An interview with a householder concerning the orphanage—unsuccessful.

“Second. The visiting of all the various points, some nine in number, where American food would be distributed for the coming week to the waiting thousands and—

“Third. A bull fight.”

One would feel something of the same dread in attempting to describe these gathering moving masses of starving humanity as in picturing the “still life” of Los Fosos. The children of three and four years old often could not walk and the mother was too weak to carry the burden, and they fell in a heap among the crowd.

The food was distributed by tickets, suited to the family and put up in paper bags, for few had any vessel to get it in.

At the first place of distribution there were 1000 fed; at the second, 1300; at the third, 2200, and so on—some larger, some less. At one of the larger distributions, when about half served, it was announced that there was no more food and the people were directed to disperse. We inquired the cause and were told there were no more American supplies in Havana—that they had been so informed. We could not persuade them that they had been misinformed, that there was plenty of food in the warehouse, but we did succeed in having the disappointed, hungry hundreds called back and told to come again next day and get their food. We never knew how the mistake occurred, but were more than ever convinced that some systematic work must be instituted among the constantly arriving supplies at the warehouse. The task had all along been too great. The next morning took us with proper assistants to San Jose, when a systematic inventory of stock as per each shipment was instituted. At 3.30 p.m. our work was interrupted. A cordial invitation from Captain Sigsbee to visit the “Maine” that afternoon had been received. His launch courteously came for us; his officers received us; his crew, strong, ruddy and bright, went through their drill for our entertainment, and the lunch at those polished tables, off glittering china and cut glass, with the social guests around, will remain ever in my memory as a vision of the “Last Supper.”

The next day took us again to the warehouse. I cannot refrain from taking the liberty of mentioning my most distinguished volunteer assistant, General Ross, a general in our Civil War and the uncle of Commissioner Ross, of Washington, D.C. Being in Havana on a passing tour, and perceiving the need, he volunteered freely to do the work which he had once commanded his under officers to direct their private soldiers to do. It was most intelligent help.

While passing quickly among the rows of barrels, with dress pinned back, a letter of introduction from the Consul-General was handed to me by a manly, polished-mannered gentleman, on whose playful features there mingled a look of amused surprise, with a tinge of well-covered roguishness and complacency, that bespoke the cultured man of the world. The note, addressed to my hotel, said that the Consul took pleasure in introducing to me Mr. William Willard Howard, of New York. Although never having met we were by no means strangers. He had worked on the Eastern fields of Armenia in the hard province of Van, while I was in Constantinople, and our expeditions in the great centre districts of Harpoot and Diarbeker. He evidently felt that the surroundings were a little rough and unexpected for a first meeting, but collecting himself, at once rallied me with the grand opportunity I was affording him for a sensational letter to the States, with a cartoon of the president of the American National Red Cross in a Cuban warehouse, with dress pinned back, “opening boxes.” He admitted that the latter stroke of the picture was a little stretch of imagination, but he hoped it might realize, as he really wanted it for his cartoon. After a few moments of pleasant badinage he left, under pretext of not hindering me in my favorite occupation of “opening boxes.”

The next day I was detained at home by an accumulation of clerical work and heavy mails to be gotten off (I had as yet no clerk), but on the return of the men at night they reported a marvelous day’s work. That Mr. Howard had come early in the morning, thrown off his coat, and, calling for a box opener, had opened boxes all day. They had never seen a better day’s work. A messenger was immediately dispatched to his hotel, inviting Mr. Howard to come and dine with us. From that time on, during his stay, he continued to dine with us. We compared methods of relief work with the experiences we had gained, and when we separated it was with the feeling on my part that any work of relief would be a gainer that could enlist men of such views, experience and capacity as Mr. Howard in its ranks.

The heavy clerical work of that fifteenth day of February held not only myself but Mr. Elwell as well, busy at our writing tables until late at night. The house had grown still; the noises on the streets were dying away, when suddenly the table shook from under our hands, the great glass door opening onto the veranda, facing the sea, flew open; everything in the room was in motion or out of place—the deafening roar of such a burst of thunder as perhaps one never heard before, and off to the right, out over the bay, the air was filled with a blaze of light, and this in turn filled with black specks like huge spectres flying in all directions. Then it faded away. The bells rang; the whistles blew, and voices in the street were heard for a moment; then all was quiet again. I supposed it to be the bursting of some mammoth mortar, or explosion of some magazine. A few hours later came the terrible news of the “Maine.”

Mr. Elwell was early among the wreckage, and returned to give me news.

The diary goes on. “She is destroyed. There is no room for comment, only who is lost, who has escaped, and what can be done for them? They tell us that most of the officers were dining out, and thus saved; that Captain Sigsbee is saved. It is thought that 250 men are lost, that one hundred are wounded, but still living, some in hospital, some on small boats as picked up. The Chief Engineer, a quiet, resolute man, and the second officer met me as I passed out of the hotel for the hospital. The latter stopped me saying, ‘Miss Barton, do you remember you told me on board the “Maine” that the Red Cross was at our service; for whenever anything took place with that ship, either in naval action or otherwise, someone would be hurt; that she was not of a structure to take misfortune lightly?’ I recalled the conversation and the impression which led to it,—such strength would never go out easily.

“We proceeded to the Spanish hospital San Ambrosia, to find thirty to forty wounded—bruised, cut, burned; they had been crushed by timbers, cut by iron, scorched by fire, and blown sometimes high in the air, sometimes driven down through the red hot furnace room and out into the water, senseless, to be picked up by some boat and gotten ashore. Their wounds are all over them—heads and faces terribly cut, internal wounds, arms, legs, feet and hands burned to the live flesh. The hair and beards are singed, showing that the burns were from fire and not steam; besides further evidence shows that the burns are where the parts were uncovered. If burned by steam, the clothing would have held the steam and burned all the deeper. As it is, it protected from the heat and the fire and saved their limbs, whilst the faces, hands, and arms are terribly burned. Both men and officers are very reticent in regard to the cause, but all declare it could not have been the result of an internal explosion. That the boilers were at the two ends of the ship, and these were the places from which all escaped, who did escape. The trouble was evidently from the center of the ship, where no explosive machinery was located.

“I thought to take the names as I passed among them, and drawing near to the first in the long line, I asked his name. He gave it with his address; then peering out from among the bandages and cotton about his breast and face, he looked earnestly at me and asked: ‘Isn’t this Miss Barton?‘ ‘Yes.’ ‘I thought it must be. I knew you were here, and thought you would come to us. I am so thankful for us all.’

“I asked if he wanted anything. ‘Yes. There is a lady to whom I was to be married. The time is up. She will be frantic if she hears of this accident and nothing more. Could you telegraph her?’ ‘Certainly!’ The dispatch went at once: ‘Wounded, but saved.’ Alas, it was only for a little; two days later, and it was all over.

“I passed on from one to another, till twelve had been spoken to and the names taken. There were only two of the number who did not recognize me. Their expressions of grateful thanks, spoken under such conditions, were too much. I passed the pencil to another hand and stepped aside.”

I am glad to say that every kindness was extended to them. Miss Mary Wilberforce had been at once installed as nurse, and faithful work she performed. The Spanish hospital attendants were tireless in their attentions. Still, there was boundless room for luxuries and comforts, delicate foods, grapes, oranges, wines, cordials, anything that could soothe or interest; and no opportunity was lost, nor cost nor pains spared, and when two days later the streets filled with hearses bearing reverently the bodies of martyred heroes; and the crape and the flowers mingled in their tributes of tenderness and beauty, and the muffled drums and tolling bells spoke all that inanimate substance could speak of sorrow and respect; and the silent, marching tread of armies fell upon the listening ear,—the heart grew sick in the midst of all this pageant, and the thoughts turned away to the far land, smitten with horror, and the homes wailing in bitter grief for these, so lone, so lost; and one saw only the: