Chapter Seven

“When such a calamitous visitation falls upon any section of our country, we can do no more than to put about the dark picture the golden border of love and charity. It is in such fires as these that the brotherhood of man is welded.”

~President Harrison, at Willard’s Hall, appealing for financial assistance for the Johnstown survivors

JOHNSTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA TUESDAY, JUNE 4

Annamae gaped at the devastation below. Johnstown was in a bowl surrounded by the Allegheny Mountains. All across the valley, houses and businesses were splintered into toothpicks, some piled atop one another. Machinery, railcars, and furniture lay strewn like dice thrown onto a table. A smoky haze rose and swirled around church steeples and other scant structures remaining on their foundations. The wave had raced down the mountain so violently, it had redirected the river, leaving parts of the old riverbed standing with stagnant water. The very place where she stood had been scalped of soil, making her feet ache against the uneven bedrock.

She looked to Miss Barton for direction. The woman’s initial dismay turned to calculated thought with a twist of her lips. Annamae had apprenticed under her long enough to recognize her mental process. In a few minutes, she would tell them exactly where to go, what to do, and whom to help first. Annamae was glad Miss Barton was in charge. She herself could never guess where to begin in all the ruination.

The air was mild, and the breeze lent a blessed coolness across her sweaty brow. With it came the stench of contaminated water and death, eliciting a gag she covered with a cough. Five miles was the closest they could get to Johnstown with the washed-out tracks. A kind farmer had brought them closer in his wagon until the incline grew too steep for the horses to pull the heavy load of luggage and passengers. They’d packed themselves like mules and walked the rest of the way down the incline. A good mile and three quarters, Annamae guessed. She refused to give thought to her overworked muscles or her parched mouth. The people of Johnstown needed far more attention than she.

General Hastings, Pennsylvania’s adjutant general, dropped a pack at his feet and sighed. He swiped his fingers over his sweaty brow then rubbed them down his pants legs. His grim expression deepened the lines on his aging face. He glanced up at the heavy clouds sweeping across the sky. More water was the last thing these people needed.

“How are we to assist you, Miss Barton?” he asked.

The Red Cross warrior raised her small stature, lifting her chin with enough confidence to match the general’s six-foot frame. Miss Barton’s raven hair, free of a single strand of gray for her sixty-eight years, glistened from her exertion. “You misunderstand, General Hastings. We’ve no need of assistance. We’ve come to assist. I have already notified the Red Cross of Philadelphia that their services will be needed. Their group is composed mostly of medical men. I’ve also asked them to bring as many tents as they can gather. If they are not already here, they should arrive shortly.”

General Hastings’s mouth quirked in amusement. They’d found the general soon after stepping off the train. He told them he’d arrived in Johnstown on Sunday and had gone to the nearest station early this morning to send a telegram for more men. Looters had begun scouring the grounds, stealing jewelry off the deceased and valuable belongings from the debris. So many were wreaking havoc, the local militia the general had mustered wasn’t enough to keep order.

The thought made Annamae’s stomach cramp.

Miss Barton turned to their stenographer, Sylvester Ward. “Mr. Ward, prepare to intercept the first dispatches of any description to enter this desolate city. The accounts that make their way to Washington must be accurate. I’m tired of pompous newspapermen embellishing facts to sell papers.”

The general pressed his lips together.

“Yes, ma’am.” Mr. Ward nodded.

“The first thing we’ll do”—Miss Barton addressed the group—“is establish a place to settle our tents. Then Dr. Hubbell, Miss Worthington, and I will immediately begin addressing the most pressing medical needs. General Hastings, continue establishing order. While such disasters can bring out the best in humankind, they can also bring out the worst. Beatrice, see about food. We’ll be working round-the-clock for the next few weeks at least. Might as well start with a good meal.”

Beatrice, Miss Barton’s lady’s maid, dipped her head in acquiescence.

“You’ll be hard-pressed to find a full meal down there,” General Hastings said. “Dry goods, restaurants, even the livestock have been destroyed. Captain Bill Jones arrived this morning with a small group and as much food as they could bring, but there are a lot of bellies to fill, and it’ll go fast. You’re welcome to eat beans and biscuits with my militia.”

“Thank you, General.” Miss Barton adjusted the load she carried and continued their journey.

Bracing for the horrors below, Annamae followed the group into the barren valley, the mud and muck threatening to steal the boots from her feet as she walked. The river lapped the shoreline, rocking back and forth. Hundreds of people, dazed and weeping, dug in the muddy banks. Annamae’s tears joined those poor souls who unearthed a loved one. She moved along, following Miss Barton around bent rails and climbing over broken locomotives and strands of stray barbed wire.

They passed thousands who had nowhere proper to sleep. Many rested atop random debris, curled in the fetal position and wrapped in filthy, ratty blankets or shawls. Most hadn’t enough clothing on to ward off the chilly temperature, no doubt having been caught unawares in the need to flee for their lives.

The hunger. It was visible in their sunken cheeks and pale faces. Many onlookers watched them with curiosity, their uniforms and supply bags announcing they’d arrived from elsewhere to help. Though the American Red Cross had been established for seven years, most of the nation had yet to become familiar with their services. Miss Barton had long argued the Red Cross was meant for such emergencies, and now she would prove it to the nation.

When ideal grounds could not be found for camp, they set up temporary headquarters inside an abandoned railroad car that had been pushed off the mangled tracks. Miss Barton instructed Mr. Ward to set up an old crate she’d found as a desk. Two soldiers erected the tents they’d brought on each side of headquarters. While the rest of their group ate with General Hastings’ men, Miss Barton stayed at the railcar with Mr. Ward to compile a list of specific supplies needed. Annamae promised to bring them food when she returned.

The Philadelphia Red Cross Society had arrived and was setting up additional tents by the time Annamae arrived back at headquarters. Thick drizzle made everything slick, and it was proving difficult to keep the supplies dry. Some tents would house the workers while others would protect the sick and injured. Another set of tents would become a hospital for surgeries or extreme cases.

Bodies moved like hummingbirds to establish the area for relief while General Hastings’ men publicized their arrival and location. Members of the Philadelphia Red Cross spread out and started assessing which survivors needed immediate medical attention. At barely five in the evening, daylight was fading, and victims flowed into their tents with hypothermia, pneumonia, and broken bones.

Two men delivered a man consumed with fever, his leg twisted at an unnatural angle. They’d rescued him from the water but could not extricate the barbed wire embedded into the skin. Dr. Hubbell called for an immediate amputation to isolate the infection and, hopefully, save the man’s life. Annamae had assisted in amputations before but always within a sterile hospital room with a full staff and plenty of supplies. Never had she worked in such a crude environment. Miss Barton must have sensed her trepidation and volunteered to assist the doctor while Annamae assisted elsewhere.

Through the halo of lantern light, Annamae worked long into the night, talking to and comforting patients while she cleaned and disinfected their wounds. Small fires burned throughout the remainder of town. From what General Hastings said, survivors were not only using them to stay warm but had abandoned the hillsides to congregate around the light and avoid confrontation with looters. She’d overheard two reporters discussing the onslaught of greedy Hungarians and Slavs as they’d walked by. It struck both fear and fury inside Annamae. To think anyone could do something as despicable as cutting off appendages from the dead for their possessions or violating innocent women who were merely trying to find traces of their husbands and children in the rubble.

May God have mercy on them all.

At midnight, Miss Barton approached Annamae’s station, covering a yawn with her hand. “Get some rest, Miss Worthington. More nurses and supplies have arrived from Washington. They slept on the train, so they’ll take over the night hours.”

Annamae didn’t feel right sleeping when so many needed medical attention. “How are we to help them all?”

“Oh, this is nothing, my dear,” Clara said. “So long as we have no bullets flying around us. See you at sunrise.”

A yawn of her own bubbled up, and Annamae gave into it, knowing if Miss Barton had succeeded in the Civil War, she would succeed here too.

Annamae hadn’t noticed how tired she was until Miss Barton mentioned sleeping. Now her feet lumbered like steel blocks. In the women’s tent, she slipped out of her shoes and dirty apron and crawled onto her cot. The pillow was flat, and the wool blanket was scratchy, but Annamae didn’t remember falling asleep until her weighty eyelids cracked open the next morning.

Stiff and sore, she stretched to limber her muscles. Nurses entered and exited the tent while others slept. Annamae splashed cold water on her face and neck, put on a fresh apron and her shoes, brushed her hair and plaited it as best she could without a mirror, then donned her cap. Outside, the sunrise bathed the mountain in beautiful gold. How she wished those rays would shine healing over the land as well, but the angry clouds in the distance sprinting closer promised more rain.

Annamae rubbed her arms for warmth as she walked to the medical tents. She smiled at a little girl standing on a chair that was half buried in the mud. Her scarf was knotted beneath her chin, stockings and shoes caked with mud. She overheard the girl’s father asking Doctor Hubbell why his little Gertrude would no longer speak.

Poor thing. Shock did that to people sometimes.

Miss Barton stood outside headquarters, directing two men carrying crates. She motioned Annamae closer while issuing orders to Mr. Rochester, the workman who’d accompanied them to Johnstown. “Lumber is coming from Pittsburgh. I want six buildings, exactly one hundred feet by fifty, built as quickly as you can. Use as many able-bodied survivors as possible. Let them know these will serve as hotels to house displaced residents and distribute supplies—all at no cost to them. I guarantee you’ll have plenty of men ready to put their hands to work.”

“Right away, ma’am.” Mr. Rochester acknowledged Annamae with a nod then exited the tent.

It always entertained Annamae to see men bow to Clara Barton’s demands. Gentle and regal as a queen, Miss Barton’s character commanded respect, and men seemed perfectly happy to support her in any way they could.

“Good morning, Miss Barton.” Annamae clasped her hands in front of her and waited for instructions.

“Miss Worthington, we’re going to be working closely with one another over the next few months at least. I think it’s time you called me Clara.”

“Yes, Miss … Clara.”

“Very well. Please assist Dr. Hubbell this morning. Several have requested medical services, and they’re lined up for a city block. Supplies will arrive at headquarters throughout the day. I’m off to dictate another telegram to Mr. Ward and delegate some paperwork to Beatrice.”

Annamae always marveled at the feats the woman could accomplish given time and people to delegate to.

Before Doctor Hubbell could see the next patient, Annamae informed him she was to assist him for the rest of her shift. He pulled her aside, his face hard as granite, and spoke in low tones. “Doctor Rose is working with a team to clear debris and set up tents about a quarter mile from here. Once they’re finished, make up as many sickbeds as you can. We may need to send patients there for isolated care. If so, that station will be quarantined.”

“What is it?” she whispered.

Dismay was clear in the grim lines of his mouth. “There isn’t a drop of clean water in which to bathe or drink within miles of this town. What’s here is contaminated with corpses, oil, open plumbing, and a number of other things. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Annamae swallowed, knowing the dangers that lurked in unclean water. “Yes, sir.”

“Keep yourself as clean as you can, especially before eating. I’m hoping we won’t need those sick beds, but odds are we won’t have enough. You are young and strong and capable. That’s why I’m asking you to help me with this.”

Despite the concern for her own health snaking down her spine, she’d taken an oath as a Red Cross nurse to assist where needed, no matter what. Her spirit wilted as Doctor Hubbell turned to his next patient. As if the residents of Johnstown hadn’t suffered enough, now they were vulnerable to typhoid fever.