“War has occurred four times in the United States in 120 years. Four times men have armed and marched; and its women waited and wept. But we cannot always hold our great Ship of State out of the storms and breakers. She must meet and battle with them. Her timbers must creak in the gale. The waves must dash over her decks; she must lie in the trough of the sea. But the Stars and Stripes are above her. She is freighted with the hopes of the world. God holds the helm; and she is coming into port.”
Miss Barton, you need no advice, only the opportunity. If any trouble happens you, let me know. REAR-ADMIRAL WILLIAM T. SAMPSON, of New York. Commander-in-Chief, U. S. Atlantic Naval Forces, Spanish-American War. ]
REPRESENTATIVES RESPECTIVELY OF THREE WARS
Clara Barton is the greatest woman of either the nineteenth or twentieth century.—ISAAC B. SHERWOOD, of Ohio, Brigadier-General, Civil War; U. S. Congress, 1869–1875; 1907–1921. ]
Clara Barton gave expression to the sympathy and tenderness of all the hearts of all the women in the world.—JOSEPH TAGGART, of Kansas. U. S. Congress, 1912–1918; Captain, World War. ]
Bullets had done their ghastly work; disease had run riot amidst filth and squalor. Starvation had stalked ruthlessly over the island. “May I return to the starving,” asked Clara Barton, “with my relief ship of supplies now in waiting?”
“Not so,” replied Admiral Sampson, “I go first; I am here to keep supplies out of Cuba.”
“I know, Admiral, my place is not to precede you. When you make an opening I will go in. You will go in to do the horrible deed. I will follow you and, out of the human wreckage, restore what I can.”
Cervera’s fleet was at the bottom of the sea, or wrecked on the shores. Spanish Cuba doomed, the enemy had raised the white flag, capitulated; soldiers, sailors, civilians, women and children, the human wreckage. Fateful days! Enough crime and misery rampant to satisfy the God of War and the imps of regions infernal.
Fair land of Cuba! on thy shores are seen Life’s far extremes of noble and of mean; The world of sense and matchless beauty dressed, And nameless horrors hid within thy breast.
Cuba! Thou still shalt rise, as pure, as bright As thy free air—as full of living light;—
