The Life of Clara Barton, Founder of the American Red Cross (Vol. 1 of 2)Barton, William E. (William Eleazar)
History
The Life of Clara Barton, Founder of the American Red Cross (Vol. 1 of 2)
Barton, William E. (William Eleazar)
American National Red Cross -- Biography; Barton, Clara, 1821-1912; Nurses -- United States -- Biography
One clear, cold, starlight Sunday morning, I heard a low whistle
under my open chamber window. I realized that the boys were out for
a skate and wanted to communicate with me. On going to the window,
they informed me that they had an extra pair of skates and if I could
come out they would put them on me and “learn” me how to skate. It
was Sunday morning; no one would be up till late, and the ice was so
smooth and “glare.” The stars were bright; the temptation was too
great. I was in my dress in a moment and out. The skates were fastened
on firmly, one of the boy’s wool neck “comforters” tied about my
waist, to be held by the boy in front. The other two were to stand
on either side, and at a signal the cavalcade started. Swifter and
swifter we went, until at length we reached a spot where the ice had
been cracked and was full of sharp edges. These threw me, and the
speed with which we were progressing, and the distance before we could
quite come to a stop, gave terrific opportunity for cuts and wounded
knees. The opportunity was not lost. There was more blood flowing than
any of us had ever seen. Something must be done. Now all of the wool
neck comforters came into requisition; my wounds were bound up, and I
was helped into the house, with one knee of ordinary respectable cuts
and bruises; the other frightful. Then the enormity of the transaction
and its attendant difficulties began to present themselves, and how
to surround (for there was no possibility of overcoming) them was the
question.
The most feasible way seemed to be to say nothing about it, and we
decided to all keep silent; but how to conceal the limp? I must have
no limp, but walk well. I managed breakfast without notice. Dinner not
quite so well, and I had to acknowledge that I had slipped down and
hurt my knee a little. This gave my limp more latitude, but the next
day it was so decided, that I was held up and searched. It happened
that the best knee was inspected; the stiff wool comforter soaked off,
and a suitable dressing given it. This was a great relief, as it
afforded pretext for my limp, no one observing that I limped with the
wrong knee.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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