Clara Barton to Annie Childs, March 5, 1861

WASHINGTON City, March 5th, 1861

My DEAR ANNIE:

I have just a few minutes before dinner for which I have no positive call, and I am going to inflict them on you. Of course you will not expect an elaborate letter, for I by no means feel competent to the task to-day if I had the time.

The 4th of March has come and gone, and we have a live Republican President, and, what is perhaps singular, during the whole day we saw no one who appeared to manifest the least dislike to his living. We had a crowd, of course, but not so utterly overwhelming as had been anticipated; everywhere seemed to be just full, and no more, which was a very pleasant state of affairs. The ceremony was performed upon the East Capitol steps facing Capitol Hill, you remember. The inaugural address was first delivered in a loud, fine voice, which was audible to many, or a majority of the assemblage. Only a very few of the United States troops were brought to the Capitol at all, but were in readiness at their quarters and other parts of the city; they were probably not brought out, lest it look like menace. Great pains appeared to be taken to avoid all such appearances, and indeed a more orderly crowd I think I never saw and general satisfaction expressed at the trend and spirit of the Address. Of course, it will not suit your latitude quite as well, but I hope they may find it endurable.

It is said that the Cabinet is formed and has been or will be officially announced to-day. And there is some prospect of the Honorable Eli Thayer being appointed Commissioner of Patents. Only think of it! Isn’t it nice if it is true? Mr. Suydam has been spending the week with us; left this morning. Mrs. Suydam is better, he says. Mr. Starr is here.

We have had the most splendid spring weather you ever saw for two weeks past, no rain, but bright sunshine; it has been frightfully dusty some of the time and this day is one apparently borrowed from Arabia, by the clouds of sand.

I hear from you sister sometimes, but not until I have almost lost trace of her each time, but I am, of course, most to blame. I hope your business has revived with the approach of spring, as it doubtless has. You will not be surprised if I tell you that I am in a hopeless state of semi-nudity, just clear the law and nothing more. Sally told me on her return that you would have come out and stayed with us some this winter if you had thought it could have been made to pay, but as usual I knew nothing of this until it was too near spring to think of your leaving your business. How glad I should have been to have had you here a month or two, and I think I could have relieved you of the most of expense to say the least of it, if you were not doing much at home, and what a comfort it would have been to me to get right in the clothing line. Will there ever be another time that you would think you could leave, and come to Washington if I should remain?

Where is Fannie? Is she having a vacation now? Please give my love to her, and all inquiring friends, reserving a large share for yourself, and believe me,

As ever, your loving friend

CLARA

SOURCE: William E. Barton, The Life of Clara Barton Founder of the American Red Cross, Vol. 1, pp. 104-6

Diary of Clara Barton: Thursday, April 14, 1864

This was one of the most down-spirited days that ever came to me. All the world appeared selfish and treacherous. I can get no hold on a good noble sentiment anywhere. I have scanned over and over the whole moral horizon and it is all dark, the night clouds seem to have shut down, so stagnant, so dead, so selfish, so calculating. Is there no right? Are there no consequences attending wrong? How shall the world move on in all this weight of dead, morbid meanness? Shall lies prevail forevermore? Look at the state of things, both civil and military, that curse our Government. The pompous air with which little dishonest pimps lord it over their betters. Contractors ruining the Nation, and oppressing the poor, and no one rebukes them. See a monkey-faced official, not twenty rods from me, oppressing and degrading poor women who come up to his stall to feed their children, that he may steal with better grace and show to the Government how much his economy saves it each month. Poor blind Government never feels inside his pockets, pouching with ill-gotten gain, heavy with sin. His whole department know it, but it might not be quite wise for them to speak — they will tell it freely enough, but will not, dare not affirm it — COWARDS! Congress knows it, but no one can see that it will make votes for him at home by meddling with it, so it is winked at. The Cabinet know it, but people that live in glass houses must not throw stones. So it rests, and the women live lighter and sink lower, God help them. And next an ambitious, dishonest General lays a political plot to be executed with human life. He is to create a Senator, some memberships, a Governor, commissions, and all the various offices of a state, and the grateful recipients are to repay the favor by gaining for him his confirmation as Major-General. So the poor rank and file are marched out to do the job, a leader is selected known to be brave to rashness if need be, and given the command in the dark, that he may never be able to claim any portion of the glory — so that he cannot say I did it. Doomed, and he knows it, he is sent on, remonstrates, comes back and explains, is left alone with the responsibility on his shoulders, forces divided, animals starving, men suffering, enemy massing in front, and still there he is. Suddenly he is attacked, defeated as he expected he must be, and the world is shocked by the tales of his rashness and procedure contrary to orders. He cannot speak; he is a subordinate officer and must remain silent; the thousands with him know it, but they must not speak; Congress does not know it, and refuses to be informed; and the doomed one is condemned and the guilty one asks for his reward, and the admiring world claims it for him. He has had a battle and only lost two thousand men and gained nothing. Surely, this deserved something. And still the world moves on. No wonder it looks dark, though, to those who do not wear the tinsel. And so my day has been weary with these thoughts, and my heart heavy and I cannot raise it — I doubt the justice of almost all I see.

Evening. At eight Mr. Wilson called. I asked him if the investigation was closed. He replied, yes, and that General Seymour would leave the Department in disgrace. This was too much for my fretted soul, and I poured out the vials of my indignation in no stinted measure. I told him the facts, and what I thought of a Committee that was too imbecile to listen to the truth when it was presented to them; that they had made themselves a laughing-stock for even the privates in the service by their stupendous inactivity and gullibility; that they were all a set of dupes, not to say knaves, for I knew Gray of New York had been on using all his blarney with them that was possible to wipe over them, When I had freed my mind, and it was some time, he looked amazed and called for a written statement. I promised it. He left. I was anxious to possess myself of the most reliable facts in existence and decide to go to New York and see Colonel Hall and Dr. Marsh again; make my toilet ready, write some letters, and at three o'clock retired.

SOURCE: William Eleazar Barton, The Life of Clara Barton: Founder of the American Red Cross, Volume 1, p. 265-7

Abraham Lincoln to the Friends of Missing Persons

To the friends of missing persons;

Miss Clara Barton has kindly offered to search for the missing prisoners of War. Please address her at Annapolis, Maryland giving name, regiment, and company of any missing prisoner.

A. LINCOLN

SOURCE: Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln, Volume 8, Appendix 1, p. 423