The neighboring city of Rochester, forty miles to the north of Dansville, hearing of the activity of its smaller neighbor in the great disaster that was paralyzing all, desired also to unite in the work and knowing much less even than Dansville of what the Red Cross might mean, still desired to act with it, if possible; and appended herewith will be found their report, which will best tell their story.

Following close on the organization in Rochester, the citizens of the sister city of Syracuse and vicinity, in Onondaga County, N.Y., met at the Board of Trade rooms and perfected their organization under the above name. Rev. Dr. Richmond Fiske, a widely known philanthropist, prominently connected with the principal charities of the city, assisted by Professor G.F. Comfort, of the Syracuse University, led the movement. The constitution, embracing in admirable form the principles of the Geneva Convention, was signed by a large number present and officers were appointed representing the names of the leading people of the city.

These were the first steps of the American National Association of the Red Cross in relief work and in the organization of auxiliary societies. The completion of this work, which may have seemed premature and preliminary, left the association free to continue its efforts with the Government of the United States on behalf of its accession to the treaty.

MISSISSIPPI AND OHIO RIVER FLOODS—1882.

The spring rise of the waters of the Mississippi brought great devastation and a cry went over the country in regard to the sufferings of the inhabitants of the Mississippi valley. For hundreds of miles the great river was out of its bed and raging madly over the country, sweeping in its course not only the homes but often the people, the animals, and many times the land itself. This constituted a work of the relief clearly within the bounds of the civil part of our treaty, and again we prepared for work. Again our infant organization sent its field agent, Dr. Hubbell, to the scene of disaster, where millions of acres of the richest valley, cotton and sugar lands of America, and thousands upon thousands of homes under the waters of the mightiest of rivers—where the swift rising floods overtook alike man and beast in their flight of terror, sweeping them ruthlessly to the gulf beyond, or leaving them clinging in famishing despair to some trembling roof or swaying tree top till relief could reach and rescue them.

The National Association, with no general fund, sent of its personal resources what it was able to do, and so acceptable did these prove and so convincing were the beneficences of the work that the cities of Memphis, Vicksburg and New Orleans desired to be permitted to form associate societies and work under the National Association. This was permitted, and those societies have remained until the present time, New Orleans organizing for the entire State of Louisiana. The city of Rochester, proud and grateful of its success in the disaster a few months before, again came to the front and again rendered excellent service.

It was a singular fact that on the first day of March, 1882, while the National Association was in session busily engaged in devising ways and means for extending the relief which to them seemed so needed and so slender, a messenger came from the Senate of the United States to announce to them that the vote had been taken and that the United States had acceded to the Treaty of Geneva without a dissenting voice. This closed a meeting joyfully which had opened with many misgivings. Fresh courage and hope were taken and every energy called into action for the furtherance of the work which seemed then fairly commenced.

In the spring of 1883 occurred the first great rise of the Ohio River; 1000 miles in extent. This river, although smaller than the Mississippi, is more rapid in its course, and its valleys hold the richest grain lands, the most cultivated farms and representing, in fact, the best farming interests of America.

The destruction of property was even greater here than in the cotton and cane lands of the Mississippi. Again our field agent was dispatched and did excellent work. The entire country was aroused, and so liberal were the contributions to the various committees of relief that when Dr. Hubbell retired from the field, having completed the work, he had still unexpended funds in hand. But they were soon needed.

MISSISSIPPI AND LOUISIANA CYCLONE

In less than a month occurred the fearful cyclone of Louisiana and Mississippi, which cut a swath clear of all standing objects for thirty miles in width and several hundred miles in length, running southeast from the Mississippi River to the Gulf of Mexico.

Our special agent for the South, Colonel F.R. Southmayd, took charge of the Red Cross relief in this disaster, and so efficient was his work that societies struggled for organization under him and the Red Cross was hailed as a benediction wherever he passed. This was in May, 1883.

Our association now enjoyed for eight months a respite from active work. It was surely needed. It was the longest rest we had yet known, and afforded some small opportunity to gather up its records of past labors, organize some societies and compile a history of the Red Cross, so much needed for the information of our people and so earnestly asked for by them as well as by the United States Senate. From this history the preceding pages of this book have been extracted.

THE OHIO RIVER FLOODS.

But the respite was all too short for our purposes. The rapidly melting snows of February, 1884, brought the one thousand miles of the Ohio River again out of its bed. A wild cry went out all over the country for help. The government, through Congress, took immediate action and appropriated several hundred thousand dollars for relief, to be applied through the War Department. The Red Cross agents must again repair to the field, its societies be again notified.

But its president felt that if she were to be called every year to direct the relief work of the association in these inundations it was incumbent upon her to visit the scene in person, to see for herself what floods were like, to learn the necessities and be able to direct with the wisdom born of actual knowledge of the subject; and accordingly, with ten hours’ preparation, she joined Dr. Hubbell on his way and proceeded to Pittsburg, the head of the Ohio River. There the societies were telegraphed that Cincinnati would be headquarters and that money and supplies should be sent there. This done, we proceeded to Cincinnati by rail.

Any description of this city upon our entrance would fall so far short of the reality as to render it useless.

The surging river had climbed up the bluffs like a devouring monster and possessed the town; large steamers could have plied along its business streets; ordinary avocations were abandoned. Bankers and merchants stood in its relief houses and fed the hungry populace, and men and women were out in boats passing baskets of food to pale, trembling hands stretched out to reach it from third story windows of the stately blocks and warehouses of that beautiful city. Sometimes the water soaked away the foundations and the structure fell with a crash and was lost in the floods below; in one instance seven lives went out with the falling building; and this was one city, and probably the best protected and provided locality in a thousand miles of thickly populated country.

It had not been my intention to remain at the scene of disaster, but rather to see, investigate, establish an agency and return to national headquarters at Washington, which in the haste of departure had been left imperfectly cared for. But I might almost say, in military parlance, that I was “surprised and captured.”

I had made no call beyond the Red Cross societies—expected no supplies from other sources—but scarcely had news of our arrival at Cincinnati found its way to the public press when telegrams of money and checks, from all sides and sources, commenced to come in, with letters announcing the sending of material. The express office and freight depots began filling up until within two weeks we were compelled to open large supply rooms, which were generously tendered to the use of the Red Cross. A description could no more do justice to our flood of supplies than to the flood of waters which had made them necessary—cases, barrels and bales of clothing, food, household supplies, new and old; all that intelligent awakened sympathy could suggest was there in such profusion that, so far from thinking of leaving it one must call all available help for its care and distribution.

The government would supply the destitute people with food, tents and army blankets, and had placed its military boats upon the river to rescue the people and issue rations until the first great need should be supplied.

The work of the Red Cross is supplemental and it sought for the special wants likely to be overlooked in this great general supply and the necessities outside the limits of governmental aid. The search was not difficult. The government provided neither fuel nor clothing. It was but little past midwinter. A cyclone struck the lower half of the river with the water at its greatest height and whole villages were swept away in a night. The inhabitants escaped in boats, naked and homeless. Hail fell to the depth of several inches and the entire country was encased in sleet and ice. The water had filled the coal mines so abundant in that vicinity until no fuel could be obtained. The people were more likely to freeze than starve and against this there was no provision.

We quickly removed our headquarters from Cincinnati to Evansville, three hundred miles below and at the head of the recent scene of disaster. A new staunch steamer of four hundred tons burden was immediately chartered and laden to the water’s edge with clothing and coal; good assistants, both men and women were taken on board; the Red Cross flag was hoisted and as night was setting in, after a day of intense cold—amid surging waters and crashing ice, the floating wrecks of towns and villages, great uprooted giants of the forest plunging madly to the sea, the suddenly unhoused people wandering about the river banks, or huddled in strange houses with fireless hearths—the clear-toned bell and shrill whistle of the “Josh V. Throop” announced to the generous inhabitants of a noble city that from the wharves of Evansville was putting out the first Red Cross relief boat that ever floated on American waters.

The destroyed villages and hamlets lay thick on either bank, and the steamer wove its course diagonally from side to side calling the people to the boat, finding a committee to receive and distribute, and learning as nearly as possible the number of destitute persons, put off the requisite quantity of clothing and coal, and steamed away quickly and quietly leaving sometimes an astonished few, sometimes a multitude to gaze after and wonder who she was, whence she came, what that strange flag meant, and most of all, to thank God with tears and prayers for what she brought.

In this manner the Red Cross proceeded to Cairo, a distance of four hundred miles, where the Ohio joins the Mississippi River, which latter at that time had not risen and was exciting no apprehension. Returning, we revisited and resupplied the destitute points. The government boats running over the same track were genial and friendly with us, and faithful and efficient in their work.

It should be said that, notwithstanding all the material we had shipped and distributed, so abundant had been the liberality of the people that on our return to Evansville we found our supply greater than at any previous time.

At this moment, and most unexpectedly, commenced the great rise of the Mississippi River, and a second cry went out to the government and the people for instant help. The strongest levees were giving way under the sudden pressure, and even the inundation of the city of New Orleans was threatened. Again the government appropriated money, and the War Department sent out its rescue and ration boats, and again the Red Cross prepared for its supplemental work.

In an overflow of the Mississippi, owing to the level face of the country and the immense body of water, the valley is inundated at times thirty miles in width, thus rendering it impossible to get animals to a place of safety. Great numbers drown and the remainder, in a prolonged overflow, have largely starved, the government having never included the domestic animals in its work of relief. This seemed an omission of vital importance, both humanely and economically considered, and the Red Cross prepared to go to the relief of the starving animals of the Mississippi valley. It would also supply clothing to the destitute people whom the government would feed.

The navigation of the Mississippi River calls for its own style of boats and pilotage, the latter being both difficult and dangerous, especially with the changed channels and yawning crevasses of a flood.

The steamer “Throop” was left at Evansville and the “Mattie Bell” chartered at St. Louis and laden with corn, oats, hay, meal and salt for cattle; clothing and cooking utensils for the destitute people; tea, coffee, rice, sugar and medicines for the sick: and as quickly as possible followed the government steamers leaving the same port with rations of meat and meal. These latter boats kindly burdened themselves with large quantities of our forage which our overladen boat could not contain.

We soon found that our judgment in regard to the condition of the animals had been correct. Horses, mules, cows, sheep and pigs had been hastily gotten upon floating rafts and platforms of logs raised above the water, or had taken refuge, as many as could, on the narrow strips of land, known as broken levees, say eight to twelve feet in width, just peering above the water; and here they stood often crowded beyond the possibility of lying down, with no morsel of food save the wee green leaves and tips of the willow branches and gray moss which their pitying owners, largely poor negroes, could gather in skiffs and bring to them. Day by day they stood and wasted, starved, and their bodies floated down the stream, food for the birds of prey hovering above. Week after week hour after hour the mighty river, pouring through its monster crevasses, spread wider and wider every hour. We left our steamer at times and were rowed out in little boats for miles alongside of the levees, and went among the cattle. Some waded out into the water to their backs to reach after the green scum which gathered and swam delusively upon the surface. Some, unable to stand, lay stretched at length with head and horns dabbling in the mud, fearlessly turning great pitiful eyes upon us as we approached. Others, reeling, followed us tamely about, as if beseeching us to feed them. I need not add that they were fed. Committees of both white and colored persons were formed and the requisite quantity of food for the animals and clothing for the people were left with these committees at every needy point. Our steamer was reladen, or our supplies replenished at each available port, and in this manner we passed to New Orleans, and returning, resupplied our committees.

The necessity for a change of boat on the Ohio and Mississippi has been mentioned; that the “Throop” was discharged at Evansville and the Red Cross body passed over to St. Louis. Perhaps some reference to the journals of that date would best illustrate the necessity for these movements, as well as the spirit of the people and of the times.

From an editorial in the Chicago Inter-Ocean of March 31, 1884, the following extract is taken:

From the Evansville Journal of April 3, the following:

From the St. Louis Democrat, April 4, the following:

The brave men of the Fifth Corps in the Cuban War of 1898, endured hunger and thirst and other conditions better remembered than described. Some of them partook of the gracious offerings of hot gruel, malted milk, boiled rice, apple wine, and prune cordial at the hands of Mrs. Dr. Gardner. It will perhaps interest them to know that she is the same who, as Miss Enola Lee, was one of the company of the “Mattie Bell” in 1884.

Some of the men of the War of 1861 may remember the officer who had charge of the Commissary Department at Washington. I shall never forget the man who, despite all rank and position, stood many an hour of many a day beside my army wagons loading at his headquarters, and who wisely directed the selection of material best suited to and most needed at the proposed terminus of the dark and weary journey I was about to undertake—it was then Colonel, now General Beckwith of the regular army. He was in 1884, holding the position of Commissary at St. Louis. In the same old time spirit and in the old time way he came upon the deck of our little steamer, and directed the placing of the supplies of the “Mattie Bell.” One will never forget the terror depicted on his fine face when he saw the bales of hay taken on board. “Great heavens, you are not going to risk that! Think of it—you in the middle of that great, rushing river, no land in sight, and your ship on fire!” Still, the risk was taken, and both the ship and the stock were saved.

A few hours previous to the sailing of the “Mattie Bell” from St. Louis a stranger came on board and asked to be permitted to go with us. There was nothing very remarkable in his appearance, either for or against; but on general principles we objected to taking on a stranger without some good reason for it. His quiet persistence, however, won, and perhaps through lack of active measures on the part of some one he went. He was a silent man—walked by himself, or stood alone on some unfrequented corner of the deck. As we got lower down and more tributaries were pouring their contributions into the mighty volume that rolled and seethed about and beneath us, the danger became more imminent. Running after dark was out of the question, and timely orders were given one afternoon to tie up for the night; but our captain, anxious to make a headland a few miles further on, begged permission to run a little later, sure he could reach it before dark.

His request was rather reluctantly granted, and as we steamed on a fog and mist came up and night set in with us still afloat. In less than a half hour the stranger rushed to me with: “We are in a crevasse! We must pull out or we are lost! I have warned the engineer and captain.” The forward rush of the boat ceased; she stood still, pulled first one way then the other, shivered and struggled amid the shrieks of the reversed engine, while we waited, thoroughly aware of the situation and the doom awaiting us all, depending on the power and strength of one mute body of steel and one firm man at the helm. At length the struggling ceased; the engines had triumphed over the current. We commenced to move slowly backward, and with a grateful awe in our hearts that no words could express we found a place of safety for the night.

Daylight revealed to us a crevasse opened the day before where the river had broken through to a width of thirty rods, with the water pouring down a depth of twelve or fifteen feet in a perfect torrent into the current below, and rolling off in a self-made track to some other stream or to the Gulf of Mexico.

I have no way of accounting for this incident, but the reader will perhaps not be “too hard” on me, if I say with the father of “Little Breeches,” “I have believed in God and the angels ever since one night last spring.”

Down the Mississippi.

Down the Mississippi all was changed. Two worlds could scarcely differ more. The ofttimes shoreless waste of waters; the roaring crevasse through the broken levees; the anxious ebony faces and the hungry animals that “looked up and were not fed,” among whom and which we floated, could not fail to carry our thoughts back at times to the history of the Deluge and the Ark. The simile, however, had this important difference; we were by no means so good as to be preserved, nor they so bad as to be destroyed.

Any bare description of this voyage constitutes only the woody framework of the structure. You will readily imagine that, when it should be clothed with its ever recurring incidents it would become a very different edifice. Never a day that did not bring us incidents to be remembered, sometimes sad and touching, sometimes laughable or ridiculous.

The rough, tattered and uncouth garb of the Ohio River farmer and woodsman was offset by his quick wit and sterling sense, and the rude dialect of the Southern negro was buried out of sight by his simple faith. But the most touching of all was the honest gratitude which poured out on every side.

These people adopted the Red Cross and those who bore it, and we, in turn, have held to them. We selected helpers from among them, banded them together, gave them responsibility and thus made them mutual helps to each other and to us as well, in case of subsequent disaster.

One day as we were near the left bank of the river we saw a small herd of cattle wading out far into the water for what they could reach. A few cabins stood back of them. Steaming as near as we could we made fast to the body of a small fig tree and called the negroes, men and women, to us in their skiff.

It proved to be a little neighborhood of negroes with no white “boss,” as they say, but had their own mules and cows and were farming independently. But the food and feed were gone. The government boats had passed without seeing them, and no help had come to them. Their mules and cows were starving; they had no one to apply to. They had their little church; and their elder, a good, honest-faced man, who led them onto the boat, told the story of their sufferings and danger. We selected two men and two women, formed them into a committee of distribution and wrote out formal directions and authority for them. But before presenting it to them to sign, I asked them seriously if we left these supplies with them if they thought they could share them honestly with each other and not quarrel over them.

They were silent a moment. Then the tallest of the women rose up, and with commanding gesture said: “Miss, dese tings is from de Lord; dey is not from you, caze you is from Him. He sent you to bring dem. We would not dare to quarrel ober dem things; we would not dare not to be honest wid ’em.”

I presented the paper with no further pledge. It was signed with one name and three marks. The supplies were put off on the only little spot of land that could be reached. The negroes left the boat and stood beside the pile, which seemed a little mountain in the level space of waters. We raised steam and prepared to put off, expecting as we did so some demonstration, some shout of farewell from our newfound friends on shore and held our handkerchiefs ready to wave in reply—not a sound—and as we “rounded to” and looked back, the entire group had knelt beside the bags of grain and food and not a head or hand was raised to bid us speed. A Greater than we had possessed them, and in tearful silence we bowed our heads as well and went our way.

After the first rush of danger was over and repairs commenced among the business men, it was not always easy to find faithful willing agents to distribute supplies among those who had nothing left to repair but their stomachs, and no material for this.

At Point Coupee the Mississippi sends out a false branch of thirty miles in length, forming an island, and again joining the main river at Hermitage. These are known as False River and Island. The government boats had not entered False River, and there was great want among both people and cattle.

All the way down we were besought to hold something back for this point. At Hermitage we found the one business man, owner of the boat which plied the thirty miles of river, its warehouse and all. He, of course, was the only man who could take charge of and distribute relief around the island; and Captain Trudeau was sought. He was a young, active man, full of business, just pulling out of his own disaster, and did not know how to attend to it. “Guessed the trouble was most over up there; hadn’t heard much about it lately.” We knew better and felt discouraged that persons could not be found of sufficient humanity to distribute relief when brought to them.

I was sitting heart sore and perplexed in my stateroom trying to think out a way when two rather young women of prepossessing appearance entered with a bouquet of early flowers for me, introducing themselves as Mrs. and Miss Trudeau, wife and sister of the captain. I scarcely felt gracious, but those fair womanly faces were strong to win, and I entered into conversation asking Mrs. Trudeau what she thought of the condition of the people of the island. Her face grew sad as she said in touching tones, “Indeed, I cannot say, Miss Barton; my husband’s boat runs around twice a week and I tried to go on it for a while, but the sight of such destitution and those starving cattle, mules, cows, horses and sheep were beyond my endurance. I had nothing to give them, and I could not see it, and so left off going.”

“Would you ladies take the agency of the Red Cross to deliver supplies to these people?”

I shall not forget the appropriate and womanly manner in which this delicate lady received the abrupt proposition—no hesitation, no surprise, no self-depreciation, no simpering, but the straightforward reply, “We would, most willingly and gladly, and do our best. Our warehouse could store them, our boat take and we distribute them.” The customary official document was at once drawn up and signed.

An hour later the busy captain rushed in to see how much was really expected of him.

“Captain,” I said, “I have found agents to distribute our relief, and very satisfactorily, I think, and shall be able to release you from all responsibility.” His fine face fell; he had not expected this and in spite of all did not relish being quite relieved from duty. I went on: “You will have some share in it, captain. For instance, you will supply storage in your warehouse; your boat will take supplies on any day when demanded. Your men will handle and load all material. You will, in short, provide all accommodations, do all the work, meet all the cost, obey orders implicitly, but have none of the credit! Mrs. and Miss Trudeau are my agents.”

The good fellow fairly threw up his hat. “Good! That’s just what I’m used to. It shall be done.” And it was done; but how well it was done I could not describe to you—not only wisely and well, but elegantly.

The captain’s warehouse had little empty space after our cargo of supplies had gone into it The next day but one would be the day appointed for Governor McEnnery, of Louisiana, to make at Point Coupee his re-election speech, which would call all the people of the island who could reach it to that point to see and hear the popular governor. The little steamer “Governor Wiltz” was laden with supplies, and under direction of Madame Trudeau proceeded to Point Coupee in order to meet the people, learn the needs, and inform everyone that supplies and relief were at hand. The gallant governor addressed the crowd from the deck of the “Governor Wiltz” under the Red Cross flag, and took passage on her down the river.

fWe resupplied these agents on our return. We did this all the way among both white and black. And from that time the Red Cross has had faithful, willing agents along all the uncertain track of the lower Mississippi.

Months later, in January, 1885, when a sea voyage, foreign travel, the cares of an international conference of military men, the splendor of foreign courts, much of weariness and illness had passed between, and I had thought all those little days of river work gone from memory, I found myself in the upper gallery of the New Orleans Exposition, and stepping in at a restaurant at the end of the hall was met by Colonel Lewis, the noted colored caterer of the South. He had been on the relief committee of New Orleans appointed to meet our steamer at the time of our visit in May.

He came with cordial recognition, seated me and was telling me of his success in the restaurant when all his waiters, men and women, seemed to forget their work and stood gazing at us. The colonel smiled and said, “They have caught sight of the Red Cross brooch at your neck and recognize you by it. They will come to themselves in a few minutes.”

Next day I went in again for my lunch, when Colonel Lewis brought to me a little, thin, white-haired mulatto man of seventy-three years, but still able to take charge of and direct the help at the tables, saying, “This, Miss Barton, is Uncle Amos, whom I promised yesterday to introduce to you when you came again. Uncle Amos is my most true and faithful man.” I reached out for the withered, hard, dark bony hand he gave me as he said: “Yes, Miss Barton, I wants to see and speak to you, to tell you in de name of our people how grateful dey is for what your society has done for dem. Dat is never forgot. You come to us when we had nothing. You saved what was never saved befo’ in a flood, our cattle, so dey could go on and help derselves to raise something to eat. Dey has all heard of it; all talk about it in de churches and de meetings. Our people is singular in some tings; dey never forgets a kindness. Dey hab notions. Dey hab a way of nailing up a hoss-shoe ober de do’ for luck. I want to tell you dat in a thousand little cabins all up and down dis river dey has put up a little Red Cross ober de do’ and every night before dey goes to bed dey names your name and prays God to bless you and de Red Cross dat He sent to dem in time of trouble and distress.” Uncle Amos looked straight in my face the while. Colonel Lewis wiped his eyes, and I got away as fast as I could.

It would scarcely be faithful to the subject of this relief if some mention were not made of the third trip, namely, that of the voyage up the Ohio after the fall of the waters and the attempted return of the people to their former homes.

From an editorial of the Evansville Journal, May 28, 1884, headed “Good By Red Cross,” we make an extract or two which has reference to the voyage and its purposes:

It would be difficult to imagine a voyage more replete with live interest than this beautiful May passage from Evansville to Pittsburg.

The banks were dotted with the marks of torn and washed-out homes; and occasionally one found the family, from father and mother to the wee little ones, gathered about the bare spot that once was home, trying in vain to find enough of the buried timbers to recommence a framework for another house, if ever they could build it, with all the hunger and need for daily food staring them in the face.

Picture, if possible, this scene: A strange ship, with two flags, steaming up the river; it halts, turns from its course, and draws up to the nearest landing. Some persons disembark and speak a few minutes with the family; then a half dozen strong mechanics man a small boat laden with all material for constructing a one-room house, take it to the spot and commence putting it up. Directly here is a structure with floor, roof, doors, windows and walls; the boat returns for furniture. Within three hours the strange ship sails away leaving a bewildered family in a new and clean house, with a bed, bedding, table, chairs, clothing, dishes, candles, a well-made little cooking stove, with blazing fire, with all the common quota of cooking utensils, meat, meal, groceries, a plow, rake, axe, hoe, shovel, spade, hammer, hatchet and nails, etc. We ask few questions, they none; but often it proves that the little, bare, boyhood feet of that desolated father had once skipped through the dewy grass of the green hills of New England, the brave old parent of States, where great riches are slow to come, and famishing hunger never enters.

Again, referring to the Evansville Journal of May 28 we find the following:

On February 11, 1884, Congress, in response to appeals from Ohio, Kentucky and West Virginia, appropriated $300,000 for the relief of the people who had lost their homes and other property by the Ohio River floods. On February 15, the first appropriation having been considered hardly sufficient to meet the demands, $200,000 more were appropriated for the same purpose, making $500,000 in all to be expended under the direction of the War Department. A boat load of supplies was sent down the river from Pittsburg; two boats left Cincinnati, one going up the river and the other down; one boat went down the river from Louisville and a fifth boat was sent down the river from Evansville. Afterward some additional boats were sent out from other places. Between February 15 and March 15, 536,000 rations were distributed by the government at a cost of $350,000. The remaining $150,000 were transferred to the Mississippi flood relief.

In the official report of the relief furnished to the Ohio River flood sufferers, written by R.P.M. Ames, Assistant Surgeon U.S. Marine Hospital Service, Evansville, Ind., he speaks as follows of the part taken by the Red Cross in this work: