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The strain of planning for so many pupils was too heavy for her, so she gave up teaching and took a position in the pension office at Washington. She was there at the beginning of the great war between the North and South, and at once felt it to be her duty to leave her work and minister to the wounded soldiers.
At first she busied herself in the hospitals at Washington, but she longed to go to the front and help on the battle fields. She told her father of her strong desire, and he said to her, “Go, if you feel it your duty to go! I know what soldiers are, and I know that every true soldier will respect you and your errand.”
At last our government gave her permission, and she went to the front as fearless as any officer in the army. Amid the rain of shot and shell she went about on errands of mercy. Then there was no organized relief for the soldiers, no Red Cross, no Y. M. C. A., no help of any kind except what kind persons here and there over the country tried to give. This was very little, when compared to the vast amount of suffering, but Clara Barton managed to gather supplies and money so that she was able to give assistance to both the boys in blue and the boys in gray. She saved many lives, she wrote countless letters home for wounded soldiers, and she stood alone by the death-bed of many a brave fellow, speaking words of comfort and cheer. Whenever anyone suggested that she was working beyond her strength, she would say, “It is my duty,” and go on regardless of her personal69welfare. One of her best friends, Miss Lucy Larcom, wrote of her as follows:
“We may catch a glimpse of her at Chantilly in the darkness of the rainy midnight, bending over a dying boy who took her supporting arm and soothing voice for his sister’s––or falling into a brief sleep on the wet ground in her tent, almost under the feet of flying cavalry; or riding in one of her trains of army-wagons towards another field, subduing by the way a band of mutinous teamsters into her firm friends and allies; or at the terrible battle at Antietam, where the regular army supplies did not arrive till three days afterward, furnishing from her wagons cordials and bandages for the wounded, making gruel for the fainting men from the meal in which her medicines had been packed, extracting with her own hand a bullet from the cheek of a wounded soldier, tending the fallen all day, with her throat parched and her face blackened by sulphurous smoke, and at night, when the surgeons were dismayed at finding themselves left with only one half-burnt candle, amid thousands of bleeding, dying men, illuming the field with candles and lanterns her forethought had supplied. No wonder they called her ‘The Angel of the Battle Field’.”
After the war, President Lincoln asked her to search for the thousands of men who were missing. She at once visited the prisons, helped the prisoners to regain their health, and get in touch with their families. Besides this, she searched the National Cemeteries and had grave70stones put over many of the graves telling who were buried there. This work took four years, and at the end of it she was so broken in health that she went abroad for a long rest.
While she was in Switzerland she heard first of the Red Cross Society and attended a meeting called to establish an International Society. Twenty-four nations were represented at the meeting, but the United States was not among that number. For some years it refused to join. Miss Barton devoted herself to showing our government that in joining the International Red Cross we would not be entangling ourselves in European affairs but would be working for the good of all men. At last, in 1887, she won her victory, and the United States signed the agreement of the Red Cross Society. This is called the Treaty of Geneva.
When the first meeting was held in Geneva, Switzerland, there were persons present who found fault with the plan. They said the world should do away with warfare instead of caring for those it injured. But the Swiss President said it would take a long time for the world to learn to do without warfare. He believed the Red Cross would help to bring about the era of peace by caring for the afflicted and relieving the horror of war. The terrible struggle in Europe is showing us the truth of his words, for, when we hear about the frightful happenings, all the glory and grandeur of warfare fade away.
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A man who sees far into the future, has written, “Some day the Red Cross will triumph over the cannon. The future belongs to all helpful powers, however humble, for two allies are theirs, suffering humanity and merciful God.”
Clara Barton, who also could look beyond her day, saw another use for the Red Cross besides war service. She said: “It need not apply to the battle field alone, but we should help all those who need our help.” So the American Red Cross passed an amendment to the effect that its work should apply to all suffering from fires, floods, famine, earthquake, and other forms of disaster. This amendment was finally adopted by all nations.
At the time of the Spanish War, Miss Barton was seventy years old, but she went to Cuba and did heroic work. When the Galveston flood occurred she was eighty, but she went to the stricken community and helped in every way. After giving up her active work, she retired to Glen Echo and spent the remainder of her days quietly, always interested in the great cause to which she had given her life.
We know what the American Red Cross does for our soldiers, and whenever we see its emblem we should think of Clara Barton, as a “Noble type of good, heroic womanhood; one who was kind, humane, and helpful to all peoples, one who longed for the time when suffering and horror should pass away.”
72Photograph from Underwood & Underwood, N. Y.GEORGE W. GOETHALSBuilder of the Panama Canal
Photograph from Underwood & Underwood, N. Y.GEORGE W. GOETHALSBuilder of the Panama Canal
73GEORGE W. GOETHALS
The men who worked on the Panama Canal used to sing this little song of their own composing:
“See Colonel Goethals,Tell Colonel Goethals,It’s the only right and proper thing to do.Just write a letter, or even better,Arrange a little Sunday interview.”
Colonel George W. Goethals was the chief engineer of the canal, and when he arrived in Panama he found that many of the men were discontented. They felt they were not treated fairly. Now there were sixty-five thousand persons employed there, and Colonel Goethals knew that if they were not kept well and in good spirits the great work would never be completed. So he said he would be in his office every Sunday morning at seven o’clock. Then, any man or woman who had a complaint could come and tell him about it. He was so wise, and decided the cases with such fairness that the men came to believe in their new chief and were anxious to serve him.
It was when Theodore Roosevelt was President of the United States that Colonel Goethals was sent to Panama. President Roosevelt was anxious to have our dream of a canal across the Isthmus of Panama come true, but many persons in our country as well as in other parts of the world told him it was foolish to spend money on such an74uncertain undertaking. They said the great slides of gravel and sand along the sides of the canal could never be stopped. They said the locks would never work. President Roosevelt paid no attention to these comments, but selected Colonel Goethals because he was sure he could build the canal.
Colonel Goethals cared as little as President Roosevelt for the opinion that the task was impossible. In fact, he told the President: “Say nothing to such doubting persons. By and by we will answer them with the canal.”
We know that he did give such an answer. He built the canal right through the red shifting hills of sand that threatened to slide down and choke his work. He cut away a jungle so the banks of the canal could be kept free and open. But best of all, he taught order to the men who worked under him, and they found out that he believed in them, he believed in the work that he was doing, and he believed in the Government of the United States. No wonder they made a song about him and praised his splendid leadership.
As his title tells us, Colonel Goethals belongs to the regular army. Until he was appointed as the chief engineer of the Panama Canal, no military man had been in charge there. The men working on the canal were performing civil duties, and in no way resembled soldiers. When they heard a regular army officer was coming down, they did not like the idea of having to obey just as if they were soldiers. Many of the foremen and officials told75their men they would have to spend their time saluting Colonel Goethals and standing at attention with their little fingers against the seams of their trousers.
During the first days of his stay in Panama, a banquet was given in honor of Colonel Goethals, for the men felt they must entertain their new chief, though they were not friendly to him.
At this banquet, they cheered the former engineer, John G. Stevens, and did not applaud Colonel Goethals when he appeared. However he was exceedingly polite and did not notice their bad manners. The men had expected to see him wear a full dress uniform, and you can imagine how surprised they were when they saw him dressed in citizens’ clothes. Never once while he was in Panama did Colonel Goethals appear in uniform.
After the banquet there was a program of speeches. Each speaker made cutting remarks about the new military control, but the Colonel did not seem to notice their insults. At last it was his time to speak. He said only a few words, but they changed the minds of his hearers. He told them they were all there to build the canal. They were working for their government, the United States of America. He wanted no salutes, but he wanted work. This pleased the men and they were ashamed of their impoliteness.
The Colonel’s first act was to organize the workmen into three divisions, the Atlantic, the Central, and the Pacific.
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He put each under a superintendent. Then he stirred up contests between these divisions. He would tell the men on the Pacific division how rapidly the men on the Atlantic division were digging or putting in concrete. Of course, each division wanted to make the best showing, and the men were always eager to get the Canal Record, a small weekly newspaper, so they could read the scores of the different divisions. These scores grew to be more exciting than those of ball games, and the men worked hard and well.
They liked Colonel Goethals and whenever he went by they saluted him; not with the army salute which they had scorned, but by waving their hands, lifting their caps, and greeting him with a smile on their lips and in their eyes.
They felt free to talk to him because they knew he was their friend. Shortly after he started his Sunday morning office hours, some of the lowest paid men told him that their bosses swore at them all day and used the worst kind of language. At once he sent the following order out all over the Canal Zone.
PROFANE LANGUAGE
Culebra, C. Z. Aug. 4, 1911
Circular No. 400:
The use of profane or abusive language by foremen or others in authority, when addressing subordinates, will not be tolerated.
Geo. W. Goethals,Chairman and Chief Engineer.
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Some of the foreman did not talk much for a while, they had been so used to swearing, but the Colonel’s orders were obeyed.
The work then moved along smoothly and Colonel Goethals was looking forward to the end of his labors, when one day an engineer on the Panama Railroad paid no attention to the signals and let his train run into the rear coaches of another train, killing the conductor.
This engineer was drunk, and it is against the rules of any railroad for an intoxicated person to be in its employ. Colonel Goethals had the engineer arrested and put in jail. However, the man belonged to a labor union, and this union sent a committee demanding that he release the engineer by seven o’clock that evening. If he did not, they would order all the men working along the canal to strike. This meant that the work on the canal would stop, and it might be weeks before it would be resumed. They would wait, they said, for his answer until seven o’clock that evening. Colonel Goethals listened to the committee, then shook hands with them and went to his home.
Seven o’clock came, then eight. The committee was worried. They telephoned Colonel Goethals and asked for his answer. He replied in surprise that they had it. They said it had not reached them. He reminded them that they intended to strike at seven o’clock if the man was not released, and then said, “It is now eight o’clock; if you call the penitentiary, you will find the man is still there.”
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The leaders did not want to strike. They had expected to make Colonel Goethals do what they wanted. Then they said, “Do you want to tie up the work down here, Colonel”?
“I am not tying it up,” he told them. “You are. You forget that this is not a private enterprise, but a government job.”
When asked what he was going to do, his answer was: “Any man not at work tomorrow morning will be given his transportation to the United States. He will go out on the first steamer and he will never come back.”
There was only one man who had failed to report, and he sent a doctor’s certificate saying he was too sick to work. There were no more strikes.
In May, 1913, a Congressman introduced a bill into the House of Representatives providing for the promotion of Colonel Goethals from Colonel to Major-General as a reward for his services in building the canal. At once Colonel Goethals wrote the gentleman saying he appreciated his kindness but he did not believe he should be singled out for such an honor. There were many men, he said, who had done great work in Panama, and they, as well as himself, felt repaid for their services not only by their salary but by the honor of being connected with such a wonderful task. He said also that the United States Government had educated and trained him so it was but right that it should have his services. The bill was withdrawn and Colonel Goethals was satisfied.
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When we look at the life of this successful man it seems as if all the years before his going to the Canal Zone were but a preparation for the great feat that awaited him there. He was always eager to work, and when he was a little boy in New York City he earned his first money by doing errands. At that time he was eleven years of age, but by the time he was fifteen he was the cashier and bookkeeper in a market. Other boys spent their time playing ball, but he worked after school and every Saturday. He was paid five dollars a week. His first hope was to be a physician, but the steady indoor work had weakened his health and he decided to become a soldier. He thought the excellent military training would make him well and strong, so he passed the examinations for West Point Military Academy.
As he knew no one there, George Goethals’ entry into the famous school was but little noticed. However, as the months and years passed, every one there was proud to claim him as a pupil or classmate.
There are three great honors to be won at West Point. Any man who wins one of these is called an honor man, and the entire school looks up to him. The first honor is to have the highest grade as a student. The second is to be named a leader and an officer over all the rest of the class. The third is to be chosen for an office by one’s classmates because they like him. George W. Goethals won all three of these. He was an honor man in his studies; his teachers chose him as one of the four captains80taken from his class; and this same class elected him president in his senior year.
With such a school record it is not at all surprising that Colonel Goethals made steady progress in the army and so was considered by President Roosevelt to be the one person who could build the canal. Since its completion, this able soldier has continued to serve his country, and when President Wilson declared we were in a state of war with Germany, Colonel Goethals was among the first persons summoned to help plan and supervise the great war program; for at the root of his success lies loyalty,––loyalty to his work, to his fellow men, and to the Government of the United States.
CHILDREN’S PLEDGE
I pledge allegiance to my FlagAnd to the Republic for which it stands;One Nation indivisible,With liberty and justice for all.
81JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
On one of the more modest streets of Indianapolis there lived, in 1916, an invalid. He was a man sixty-two years of age, with a genial face that had not been hardened by his years of suffering. This man, though living in a modest home and a confirmed invalid, had the rare distinction of being the most beloved man in America. While all classes loved him, the children loved him most; and fortunately they did not wait until he was dead to show their love. One of the nice things they used to do was to send him post cards on his birthdays. Sometimes he would get, on a single birthday, as many as a thousand cards from school children in all parts of the country.
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While he could not answer all these cards, he did his best to let them know that he appreciated their kindly attention, as the following letter shows:
“To the School Children of Indianapolis:“You are conspirators––every one of you, that’s what you are! You have conspired to inform the general public of my birthday, and I am already so old that I want to forget all about it. But I will be magnanimous and forgive you, for I know that your intent is really friendly, and to have such friends as you are makes me––don’t care how old I am! In fact it makes me so glad and happy that I feel as absolutely young and spry as a very schoolboy––even as one of you––and so to all intents I am.“Therefore let me be with you throughout the long, lovely day, and share your mingled joys and blessings with your parents and your teachers, and, in the words of little Tim Cratchit: ‘God bless us, every one.’Ever gratefully and faithfullyYour old friend,James Whitcomb Riley.”
“To the School Children of Indianapolis:
“You are conspirators––every one of you, that’s what you are! You have conspired to inform the general public of my birthday, and I am already so old that I want to forget all about it. But I will be magnanimous and forgive you, for I know that your intent is really friendly, and to have such friends as you are makes me––don’t care how old I am! In fact it makes me so glad and happy that I feel as absolutely young and spry as a very schoolboy––even as one of you––and so to all intents I am.
“Therefore let me be with you throughout the long, lovely day, and share your mingled joys and blessings with your parents and your teachers, and, in the words of little Tim Cratchit: ‘God bless us, every one.’
Ever gratefully and faithfullyYour old friend,James Whitcomb Riley.”
83Photograph from Underwood & Underwood, N. Y.JAMES WHITCOMB RILEYThe “Hoosier” Poet
Photograph from Underwood & Underwood, N. Y.JAMES WHITCOMB RILEYThe “Hoosier” Poet
On one of his birthdays the school children of Indianapolis decided to march in a great throng by his house and greet him as he sat by his window in an invalid’s chair. To their sorrow, when this birthday came it rained hard all day––so hard that they could not think of going out in the storm. But in the high school was a group of pupils who decided that no storm could keep them from showing their love. Accordingly, early in the evening, in the pouring rain, they gathered about his home and in clear, ringing tones sang several of his beautiful poems that had been set to music. So delighted was the great poet that he invited them in and they packed his large sitting room. And what an hour they had together! As they sang he forgot his suffering and was young again. Before they left he recited several of his poems in such a pleasing and impressive manner that I am sure those present will never forget it. One of these, and one which is a great favorite, is entitledThe Old Swimmin’-Hole.
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THE OLD SWIMMIN’-HOLE
Oh! the old swimmin’-hole! Whare the crick so still and deepLooked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep,And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest belowSounded like the laugh of something we onc’t ust to knowBefore we could remember anything but the eyesOf the angels lookin’ out as we left Paradise;But the merry days of Youth is beyond our controle,And it’s hard to part ferever with the old swimmin’-hole.Oh! the old swimmin’-hole! In the happy days of yore,When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore,Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tideThat gazed back at me so gay and glorified,It made me love myself, as I leaped to caressMy shadder smilin’ up at me with sich tenderness.But them days is past and gone, and old Time’s tuck his tollFrom the old man come back to the old swimmin’-hole.Oh! the old swimmin’-hole! In the long, lazy daysWhen the hum-drum of school made so many run-a-ways,How pleasant was the jurney down the old dusty lane,Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so planeYou could tell by the dent of the heel and the soleThey was lots o’ fun on hands at the old swimmin’-holeBut the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow rollLike the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin’-hole.85Oh! the old swimmin’-hole! When I last saw the place,The scenes was all changed, like the change in my face;The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spotWhare the old divin’-log lays sunk and fergot.And I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to be––But never again will theyr shade shelter me!And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul,And dive off in my grave like, the old swimmin’-hole.
Though Mr. Riley is no longer with us, he still has the same big place in our hearts. Why do we love him so? Is it not because he was able to reach our hearts as few have done; because he was able in all his poems to speak the word that we needed most?
James Whitcomb Riley was born at Greenfield, Indiana, in 1853. His father was a lawyer and farmer combined. While he did the legal work of the village, he also owned a farm at the edge of town. As he was a good speaker he was in constant demand in that part of the state to speak on all kinds of occasions. Generally, on these trips, he took young James along; thus it was that the lad acquired a desire to travel that it took years of his after life to satisfy.
It was from his mother that James received his talent for writing poetry. Though never a poet, she was exceedingly apt, as were all her people, in writing rhymes. The beautiful tributes that Riley, later in life, paid his mother show that she always understood and helped him.
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Greenfield, during the boyhood days of Riley, was not the kind of town we think of as producing poets. There were no mountains to kindle the imagination, and no babbling brooks to encourage meditation. In every direction were broad stretches of level land largely covered with forests that still remained untouched. Between these forest stretches were patches of land that were cultivated by hand; for at that time there was but little farm machinery. The greatest single task of the people was to clear the forests and bring the soil under cultivation. Greenfield was, therefore, in part an agricultural town and in part a lumber town. Like most small towns, it was slow-moving and uninteresting. The scenes most frequented were the loafing places.
As there was very little in Greenfield for a lad to do, James’ father very often pressed him into service planting and cultivating corn, but he never liked it. While at first we are inclined to regret this, we wonder, had farm life appealed to him, whether he would have made a great poet.
Years later in speaking of his lack of experience in real farm life Mr. Riley says: “Sometimes some real country boy gives me the round turn on some farm points. For instance, here comes one slipping up to me, ‘You never lived on a farm,’ he says. ‘Why not’? says I. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘a turkey-cockgobbles, but he doesn’tky-ouckas your poetry says.’ He has me right there. It’s the turkey-hen thatky-oucks. ‘Well, you’ll87never hear another turkey-cock of mineky-ouckin,’ says I. But generally I hit on the right symbols. I get the frost on the pumpkin and the fodder in the shock; and I see the frost on the old axe they split the pumpkins with for feed, and I get the smell of the fodder and the cattle, so that it brings up the right picture in the mind of the reader.”
James never enjoyed his earlier experiences in school. When he should have been studying his history and arithmetic lessons he busied himself with writing rhymes. Later in life he was very sorry that he had not persevered in his regular school work. There were some things in school, however, that he did exceptionally well. Few boys in that part of the state could recite poetry as well as he, and he was always called on to speak pieces at the school entertainments. Though some of his teachers were inclined to neglect him, he had one teacher who understood him and took a great interest in him. The name of this teacher was Mr. Lee O. Harris, and Mr. Riley never tired of saying good things about him. The fact that Mr. Harris loved literature and had some poetic ability of his own made it possible for him to see in James powers that others did not see, and to encourage him when others discouraged him.
After leaving school James had some experiences that were so unusual and yet so very interesting that I am sure we should be delighted to have him, in his own delightful manner, tell us about them.
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“I tried to read law with my father, but I didn’t seem to get anywhere. Forgot as diligently as I read; so what was the use. I had learned the sign-painter’s trade, but it was hardly what I wanted to do always, and my health was bad––very bad.
“A doctor here in Greenfield advised me to travel. But how in the world was I to travel without money. It was just at this time that the patent-medicine man came along. He needed a man, and I argued this way: ‘This man is a doctor, and if I must travel, better travel with a doctor.’ He had a fine team and a nice looking lot of fellows with him; so I plucked up courage to ask if I couldn’t go along and paint his advertisements for him.
“I rode out of town without saying goodbye to anyone, and though my patron wasn’t a doctor with a diploma, as I found out, he was a mighty fine man, and kind to his horses, which was a recommendation. He was a man of good habits, and the whole company was made up of good straight boys.
“My experience with him put an idea into my head–– a business idea, for a wonder––and the next year I went down to Anderson and went into partnership with a young fellow to travel. We organized a scheme of advertising with paint, and we called our business ‘The Graphic Company.’ We had five or six young fellows, all musicians, as well as handy painters, and we used to capture the towns with our music. One fellow could whistle like a nightingale, another sang like an angel, and another89played the banjo. I scuffled with the violin and guitar.
“Our only dissipation was clothes. We dressed loud. You could hear our clothes an incalculable distance. We had an idea it helped business. Our plan was to take one firm of each business in town, painting its advertisement on every road leading to town.
“You’ve heard the story about my traveling all over the state as a blind sign-painter? Well, that started this way: One day we were in a small town, and a great crowd was watching us in breathless wonder and curiosity; and one of our party said; ‘Riley, let me introduce you as a blind sign-painter.’ So just for the mischief I put on a crazy look in the eyes, and pretended to be blind. They led me carefully to the ladder, and handed me my brush and paints. It was great fun. I’d hear them saying as I worked, ‘That feller ain’t blind.’ ‘Yes he is; see his eyes.’ ‘No, he ain’t, I tell you; he’s playin’ off.’ ‘I tell you heisblind. Didn’t you see him fall over a box and spill all his paints?’
“Now, that’s all there was to it. I was a blind sign-painter one day and forgot it the next. We were all boys, and jokers, naturally enough, but not lawless. All were good fellows, all had nice homes and good people.”
When he had spent four years with “The Graphic Company” he accepted a position as reporter for a paper published at Anderson, Indiana. In addition to his reporting work he wrote many short poems in the Hoosier dialect that took well. So successful was his work on90this paper that Judge Martindale of the Indianapolis Journal offered him a position on that paper. About the first thing he now did was to write a series of Benjamin F. Johnson poems. In speaking of this series Mr. Riley said, “These all appeared with editorial comment, as if they came from an old Hoosier farmer of Boone County. They were so well received that I gathered them together in a little parchment volume, which I called, ‘The Old Swimmin’-Hole and ‘Leven More Poems’, my first book.”
This book met with immediate favor. Speakers from east to west quoted from it. All wanted to know who the author really was. Modest as Mr. Riley was, he had to confess that he had written the book. Other books followed in close succession until when he died he had written forty-two volumes. But people were not satisfied with reading his books merely, they wanted to see and hear him. He, therefore, began in a modest way to read his poems before audiences in his native state. So delighted were these audiences, for he was a charming reader as well as a capable writer, that urgent calls came from every state in the Union to come and read for them. For a number of years he traveled widely and appeared before thousands of audiences, but this kind of life never appealed to him.
Though he never married, Mr. Riley was always fond of the quiet of a modest home. Accordingly, the closing years of his life were spent in semi-retirement in his cozy home on Lockerbie Street, Indianapolis.
91HELEN KELLER
A little girl was traveling with her father and mother. They were going from a little town in Alabama to the city of Baltimore. The journey was long and, as the little girl was only six years old, she wanted toys and playthings with which to pass the time.
The kind conductor let her have his punch when he was not using it. She found that it was great fun to punch dozens of little holes in a piece of cardboard and she would touch each hole with one of her little fingers, but she did not count them because she had not learned how.
By and by a pleasant lady thought she would make a rag doll for the little traveler. She rolled two towels up in such a way that they looked very much like a doll, and the little girl eagerly took the new plaything in her arms. She rocked it and loved it; but something troubled her, for she kept feeling the doll’s face and holding it out to the friends who sat near her. They did not understand what was the matter.
Suddenly she jumped down and ran over to where her mother’s cape had been placed. This cape was trimmed with large beads. The little girl pulled off two beads and turning to her mother pointed once more to the doll’s face. Then her mother understood that her daughter wanted the doll to have eyes; so she sewed the beads firmly to the towel and the little girl was happy.
92Photograph from Underwood & Underwood, N. Y.HELEN KELLER“Hearing” Caruso Sing
Photograph from Underwood & Underwood, N. Y.HELEN KELLER“Hearing” Caruso Sing
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Are you wondering why the little girl did not talk and tell what she wanted? She could not. Just think, she was six years old and could not speak a word! All she could do was to make a few queer sounds. Perhaps, too, you wonder why she was so anxious for the towel doll to have eyes. I think it was because although she herself was blind, she liked to fancy her doll had eyes that could see the beauties of the world. To be blind and speechless seems hard indeed, but besides lacking these two great gifts, this little girl was deaf. Think of it! She could not hear, she could not see, and she could not talk.
Yet this same little girl learned to talk. She learned to read, with her fingers, books printed for the blind in raised letters. She studied the same lessons that other children had in school, and she worked so hard that she was able to go to college.
Should you not like to hear Helen Keller, for that is the name of the little girl, tell about herself?
She says: “I was born on June 27, 1880, in Tuscumbia, a little town of Northern Alabama. I am told that while I was still in long dresses I showed many signs of an eager, self-asserting disposition. They say I walked the day I was a year old. My mother had just taken me out of the bath-tub and was holding me in her lap, when I was suddenly attracted by the flickering shadows of leaves that danced in the sunlight on the smooth floor. I slipped from my mother’s lap and almost ran toward94them. The impulse gone, I fell down, and cried for her to take me in her arms.
“These happy days did not last long, for an illness came which closed my eyes and ears and plunged me into the unconsciousness of a new born baby. The doctor thought I could not live. Early one morning, however, the fever left me, but I was never to see or hear again.”
From the time of her recovery until the journey of which we have been reading, Helen Keller lived in silence and darkness. This journey was undertaken in order to consult a famous physician who had cured many cases of blindness. Mr. and Mrs. Keller hoped this gentleman could help their child, and you can imagine how sad they were when he said he could do nothing. However, he sent them to consult Dr. Alexander Graham Bell, who had taught many deaf children to speak. Dr. Bell played with Helen and she sat on his knee and fingered curiously his heavy gold watch. He not only advised her parents to get a special teacher for her, but told them of a school in Boston in which he thought they could find some one able to unlock the doors of knowledge for the little girl. This was in the summer, and the next March Miss Sullivan went to Alabama to be Helen Keller’s friend and teacher.
Let us read how the little girl felt when this kind, loving woman came. “On the afternoon of that eventful day I stood on the porch, dumb, expectant. I felt95approaching footsteps. I stretched out my hand, as I supposed, to my mother. Some one took it and I was caught up and held close in the arms of her who had come to reveal all things to me.
“The next morning my teacher gave me a doll. When I had played with it a little while, Miss Sullivan slowly spelled into my hand the word d-o-l-l. I was at once interested in this finger play and tried to imitate it. When I at last succeeded I was flushed with pleasure and pride. In the days that followed I learned to spell a great many words with my fingers, among them were pin, hat, cup, sit, stand, and walk.
“But my teacher had been with me several weeks before I understood that everything has a name.”
Months and years of happy companionship now came to pass for Helen Keller. Every winter she and her teacher went to Boston where they had greater chances for study than in the little southern town. Here Helen learned about snow for the first time and all her memories of her studies in these years are joined with remembrances of the merry times she had after school riding on a sled or toboggan and playing in the snow.
It was when Helen was ten years old that she learned to speak. This was a great and wonderful experience. Her teacher took her to a lady who had offered to teach her. It was not easy for a deaf child to learn to talk, and Miss Keller says:
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“The lady passed my hands lightly over her face and let me feel the position of her tongue and lips when she made a sound. I was eager to imitate every motion, and in an hour had learned to make the sounds of M, P, A, S, T, I. In all I had eleven lessons. I shall never forget the surprise and delight I felt when I uttered my first connected sentence, ‘It is warm.’ After that my work was practise, practise, practise. Discouragement and weariness cast me down frequently; but the next moment the thought that I should soon be at home and show my loved ones what I could do spurred me on and I thought, ‘My little sister will understand me now.’ When I had made speech my own, I could not wait to go home. My eyes fill now as I think how my mother pressed me close to her, taking in every word I spoke, while little Mildred kissed my hand and danced.”
Now a new world was indeed open to the bright girl who was so anxious to learn. She finished studies similar to those taught in the eight grades of our schools and began to prepare for college. Miss Sullivan was still with her and, although she had for a tutor a kind, patient man who taught her algebra, geometry, and Greek, it was Miss Sullivan who sat beside her and talked into the girl’s hands the tutor’s explanations and made it possible for her to enter Radcliffe College in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
While at college Miss Keller, with Miss Sullivan, attended classes and followed the lessons through the97help of this noble teacher who gave some of her best years to training her pupil. College life brought many pleasures and interests into Helen Keller’s life, and when she finished her work there, it scarcely seemed possible that the bright, informed young woman had ever been kept a prisoner by darkness and silence.
Today Miss Keller often appears in public and tells to large audiences some of her thoughts and opinions. She is a pleasant-faced, rather serious woman and, while her voice has a hoarse sound, quite different from the usual tones of the human voice, it is possible to understand her very well indeed. Her teacher is still with her as a companion and it would be hard to say who has worked the harder in the past years of study, Miss Keller or her devoted friend.
Upon being asked what were her greatest pleasures Helen Keller named reading, outdoor sports, playing with her pet dogs, and meeting people. What she says about each of these pleasures is so interesting that you will surely be glad to read it and see, perhaps, if you and she, by any chance, think alike.
She says, “Books have meant so much more to me than to many others who can get knowledge through their eyes and ears. My book friends talk to me with no awkwardness, and I am never shut away from them; but reading is not my only amusement. I also enjoy canoeing and sailing. I like to walk on country roads. Whenever it is possible my dog accompanies98me on a sail or a walk. I have had many dog friends. They seem to understand me, and always keep close beside me when I am alone. I love their friendly ways, and the eloquent wag of their tails. I have often been asked, ‘Do not people bore you?’ I do not understand what that means. A hearty handshake or a friendly letter gives me genuine pleasure.”
But it has not always been easy for her to be cheerful and contented. She has had many struggles with sad thoughts when she thinks how she sits outside life’s gate and cannot enter into the light; cannot hear the music or enjoy the friendly speech of the world. When these gloomy ideas come to her mind she remembers, “There is joy in self-forgetfulness,” and tries to find her happiness in the lives of others.
“One flag, one land;One heart, one hand:One Nation over all.”
––Oliver Wendell Holmes.
99WILBUR AND ORVILLE WRIGHT
There is a poem called “Darius Green and His Flying Machine.” In this poem Darius, a country boy says, “The birds can fly and why can’t I?” A Greek story, centuries old, tells how a certain man and his son made themselves wings of wax. They flew far out over the sea, but the warm sun melted the waxen wings, and the two flying men were drowned.
Today the aeroplanes cut through the air with great speed. There are many different designs, and daring young men are eager to manage these swift flying crafts.
However, it is but a short time since two American boys made the first successful flights in the United States and started a factory for building aeroplanes. Wilbur and Orville Wright lived in Dayton, Ohio. Their father was a minister, who spent his spare time working with tools. Once he invented a typewriter, but it was never put on the market. The boys were interested in his workshop, and while very young began to find their greatest pleasure in making things that would go.
It was in the year 1879, when Orville was eight years old, that his father brought home a toy that made a great impression on the boyish mind. It was called a heliocopter, but the Wright boys called it “the bat.” Made of bamboo, cork, and thin paper, it had two propellers that revolved in opposite directions by the untwining of rubber bands that controlled them. When thrown against the ceiling, it would hover in the air for a time. They made many models of this toy, but after a time they became tired of it and wanted to build something more difficult.
100Photograph from Dayton, Ohio, JournalORVILLE WRIGHTJoint Inventor of the Aeroplane
Photograph from Dayton, Ohio, JournalORVILLE WRIGHTJoint Inventor of the Aeroplane
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Their first venture was a printing press; and when Orville was fifteen years of age, they were publishing a four-page paper called the Midget. They did all the work from editor to delivery boys.
Just about this time the bicycle craze passed over the country. Everyone rode a wheel. Automobiles were unknown, and the new machines, that could be ridden so fast along the highways, seemed a wonderful invention. The Wright brothers had no money to buy a bicycle, so they made one. You may laugh when you hear that they used a piece of old gas pipe for the frame, but nevertheless they succeeded in their undertaking and could ride as well on their home-made machine as their friends did on expensive, high-grade ones. No doubt they had many long rides and great sport with the bicycle they had built, but the Wright brothers always found their greatest pleasure in making things rather than in using them. Therefore, it did not seem strange to any one when they said they wanted something better than a bicycle; but when it became known that instead of riding rapidly over city streets and country roads they wanted to fly through the air like birds, the people were amazed and thought the two boys had lost their wits.