Lucy Seaman Bainbridge

1842-1928

Mother,
Author,
Missionary.

First President of the RI WCTU

Founded the Woman's Branch of the
Brooklyn City Mission Society
Led the Woman's Branch of the
New York City Mission Society

A Brief Biography of Lucy Seaman Bainbridge adapted from:
Ancestry of William Seaman Bainbridge by Louis Effingham De Forest; Scrivener Press, Oxford, 1950.
Wedding portrait September 5, 1866
Lucy Elizabeth Seaman was born in Cleveland Ohio on January 18, 1842 and died in New York City on November 19, 1928. Her father, John Farmer Seaman, was born on November 6, 1804, at Ballston Spa, New York, and died on June 3, 1877, in Cleveland, Ohio. On October 10, 1831, at Rochester, New York, he married Cleora Augusta Stevens, who was born at Middlebury, Vermont, on June 9, 1814, and died at Providence, Rhode Island, on July 10, 1869. He was a resident of Ballston Spa, engaging in the manufacture of boots and shoes until he was about twenty-one years old, when he went to New York City and from there to Philadelphia, always engaged in the same business. In 1830 he was in Rochester, New York, employed by a firm engaged in the manufacture of the same articles. Soon after his marriage in 1831, he went by canal and stage coach to Cleveland, accompanied by his bride and Horatio Ranney. The two men there set up a shoe business of their own. Mr. Ranney soon retired but Mr. Seaman in 1836 took another partner, William T. Smith, and continued successfully in the same business with him until his death. This store, Seaman and Smith, continued under that name until 1895.

Throughout her childhood, Lucy lived in her family home at 64 Seneca Street, near the town square of Cleveland, watching a city grow up around her. She was tutored at home until she was nine years old and then she attended grade school, and high school, and the Cleveland Female Seminary for one year. She then was transferred to a seminary at Ipswich, Massachusetts.

In 1864 she joined the Ohio Soldiers' Aid Society and was sent to Fredericksburg, Virginia, where she was engaged in caring for wounded men on their movement by boat and train to Washington. Very successful in this work, she was invited to advance to the front of the Union Armies, and proceeded to serve at Port Royal, White House Landing and City Point. Known as 'Sister Ohio' to the troops, she met Clara Barton and saw Lincoln and Grant.

During her war service, Lucy met William Folwell Bainbridge, a young man working with the Christian Commission that sought to bring hope and faith to the soldiers. He had graduated from Rochester University in 1862 and was working his way through Rochester Theological Seminary. After the war he took a Baptist church in Erie, Pennsylvania, and began visiting Lucy in Cleveland. On September 5, 1866, they were married in her family's church.

In January of 1867 Lucy and William started a delayed wedding trip which took them wife to Paris, Beirut, Constantinople, St. Petersburg, Moscow and Hamburg. Soon after their return home Mr. Bainbridge was called to the pastorate of the Central Baptist Church of Providence, Rhode Island, the largest parish in New England outside of Boston. While living in Providence, Mrs. Bainbridge organized and led a large Bible class in her husband's church, as well as being Vice President of the Rhode Island Women's Club and President of the Women's Christian Temperance Union of Providence.

Lucy's daughter, Cleora Emily Bainbridge, was born at Cleveland, Ohio, on November 8, 1868, and died at Providence Rhode Island, on April 14, 1870. Her son, William Seaman Bainbridge, was born at Providence Rhode Island, on February 17, 1870, and died in Danbury Connecticut, on September 22, 1947. Lucy adopted a second daughter, Helen Augusta Bainbridge, who was born in Providence on November 23, 1872 and died in New York City on August 14, 1919. After Lucy's mother died, her father married William's mother, Mary Folwell Bainbridge, who had been a widow since 1865.

Lucy remained in Providence ten years, when William resigned to make a world tour of missions. Lucy and her nine-year-old son, William Seaman Bainbridge, accompanied him in this journey of fifty thousand miles, leaving Helen with her grandmother in Cleveland. They left on January 1, 1879, and made long visits to Japan, China, the Malay States, India, Egypt and Europe.

The Bainbridge family returned to Providence for some years and then Mr. Bainbridge moved to Brooklyn, New York, where he was in charge of the City Mission Society and Lucy organized the Women's Branch of that Society. Later she became Superintendent and served as such for three years.

Meanwhile Mr. Bainbridge's major interest had become the study of archaeology. He wanted to be near Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, so he accepted the pastorate of the Delaware Avenue Baptist Church in Wilmington, Delaware. Later he took a church at Allston, Massachusetts, so he might be close to Harvard University. He gave up his position at Allston and all active church work to devote himself entirely to archaeology. He studied and wrote in London, Paris, Berlin, Egypt, and many other places. He learned to read eleven languages. In fact, he devoted twenty-five years to the compilation of a manuscript which was intended to trace every word of reference in the Bible. When he died suddenly at Cambridge in 1915, Mr. Bainbridge was still at work on his subject. After his death his widow and son tried to arrange for the publication of his material but learned that the four great printed volumes which would be necessary were beyond the means of any interested publisher.

Lucy's notable effectiveness working with the Brooklyn City Mission Society led to her appointment as Superintendent of the Woman's Branch of the New York City Mission Society. She took over this office on April 1, 1891, and held it until her resignation on November 9, 1908. She was chief of a force of fifteen nurses, fifty missionaries and some forty trained workers, who accomplished under her direction an enormously useful and important work, chiefly in that part of Manhattan Island below Twenty-Third Street. Mrs. Bainbridge also lectured constantly, partly for the Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions and partly in connection with her New York City Mission work. She was the co-editor of the Mission's monthly publication and the author of four books. These were: Round the World Letters (1882), Helping the Helpless in Lower New York (1917), Jewels from the Orient (1920) and Yesterdays (1924).

Shortly before her resignation from the City Mission Society, Mrs. Bainbridge and a friend went on a round-the-world tour, visiting Japan, Korea, China, crossing Siberia, across Europe, to England and Ireland, and home. There was one more long trip ahead of her. When aged eighty-three and almost blind, she went to California for several months, returning by boat.

In the year 1928 her son bought in Bethel, Connecticut, the house in the country which his mother longed for. She spent some happy months there and was brought back to her old home at 34 Gramercy Park for the final days. Her significant and inspiring career is told in the work by A. H. McKinney, Ph.D., D.D., entitled Triumphant Christianity, The Life and Work of Lucy Seaman Bainbridge, published in 1932. Mrs. Bainbridge's career was also regularly carried in Who's Who in America.

Sister Ohio: A Memory of the Civil War by Lucy Seaman Bainbridge. From The Outlook, May 28, 1919
Sister Ohio
A visit to Washington with my mother, in 1864, brought about an immediate change in my life.

We were guests at a public dinner where one of the speakers told of the need of nurses at the warfront - a vital need, for which there was no adequate supply. At that time our country ha no trained nurses; the women who took upon themselves that duty had only their home-experience and common-sense on which to rely. I went into service with hardly that much knowledge, I was so very young.

The speaker at the dinner was the Ohio Military Agent, head of the Ohio Soldiers' Aid Society. He told of the terrible suffering at Fredericksburg, and continued: " The conditions are worse than in the winter of 1862, when so many dead and wounded lay along the banks of the Rappahannock and the Army of the Potomac was so sorely pressed. Without going into the causes or blunders which brought this, the fact is that by the river and in the city streets and on the floors of the houses our men are sick, wounded and suffering, helpless and dying. It is an awful condition there."

Strange talk for a dinner table, but it was a time of war!

"I am here to send down a relief party to do what it can for those poor, brave boys of ours," the Military Agent went on. " In our State, furloughs have been granted so that great numbers of our young men may leave business, and the Rev. Mr. Prugh, an Ohio clergyman of good standing, will be the head of the party. There is also ready to go one efficient woman; she will arrive to-morrow, but I cannot send one woman alone."

Turning to my mother he asked: " Will you go? You have had wide experience and could give most valuable help. Can you not go down with the party? And take your daughter along - she can help."

Because of a telegram she had received informing her of sickness at home, my mother was compelled to answer that her going was impossible.

But you may send my daughter," she added, "and I will go as far as Acquia Creek with her to see, whether or not, she can be of any use."

It was no gala party on that transport which took us down from Washington to meet the train from Fredericksburg. There was nothing before us but work for suffering, dying men. It was understood from the first that hardly the ordinary courtesies of social life were to be observed. If women were to go into that kind of service, they were to be ready to do fully their part, and in no sense to become a burden to the men who were so greatly needed. This was understood.

Oh, what a procession that was from train to transport! Men hobbling, limping, staggering each man able to help lending a hand to those utterly helpless. There were few stretchers; blankets, and even sheets, were used for carrying the men who could not walk. Wounded, sick, and faint, they reeled from the railway to the friendly boat, where they gladly lay down on the hard boards. A narrow pathway was left between the feet of the two rows of men packed closely together on the floor of the transport. The few doctors were indeed busy, and very quickly used my mother's practical knowledge of nursing and medicine. In the midst of groans, creaking of machinery, and swash of the river, and no one to direct her, what could a girl do? Only this: A pail was found and filled with water; then lips were moistened, dried rags soaked with blood around the wounds wetted, and bits of old flannel shirts, made to serve as temporary bandages, eased up by the water. Water! Water! Water! How the men on that hard floor, packed closely together, craved the comfort of it on face and hands and wounds!

"Good!" said the doctor, as he hurried by. "Now make some punch - can you? We must keep these fellows alive till we get them to Washington." All through that night - long for the poor men but short to us who worked - we fought pain and death. Kneeling on the floor beside the men, one and another looked up as the comforting water or the spoonful of punch touched his lips, and said feebly, " Oh, bless ye! God bless ye!"

On reaching Washington our boat was quickly emptied. The men were lifted into ambulances and sent to the hospitals, but many were laid away in quiet rest at Arlington. We made ready promptly to return for another boat-load. "I shall be very pleased if you will spare your daughter to go down to the base of supplies with our party," said the Military Agent, very cordially, to my mother. "All of them ask this, and Mr. Prugh, the leader, will take her under his wing." And so I went to the Front.

There was no pretty nurse's cap or white uniform to wear, but just plain, every-day clothes - a gingham dress and apron; no dainty and becoming white veil with a red cross over my forehead or on my arm. My distinguishing mark was simply a badge of red silk pinned on my left breast, on which were printed in gilt the words "Ohio Relief." Thus I went down the Potomac under the special guardianship of my leader, whom I called Father Prugh. At Port Royal on the Rappahannock, White House Landing on the Pamunkey, and, finally, at City Point, I had experiences of war which memory will never lose. How much was accomplished is a problem for the arithmetic of eternity!

The State of Ohio gave us stores of condensed milk, dried, toasted bread, crackers, sugar, canned fruits, jellies, and so forth, and our Practical State sent to each of us women a good umbrella, to be used against sun and rain. Away down within the boom-boom-boom of the cannonading, close to the Front, what could our party of untrained though willing people do? Surely, What could a mere girl really accomplish ? Yet, after all, woman's work is made up of little things, and these "littles," put together, make the whole. So with that thought I worked.

Because of lack of army supplies, or because they were tied up with red tape, more poor fellows were brought wounded and helpless back from the Front than there were tents to cover them. On the grassy floor they were laid close together, with an orderly to care for them as best he could. When the tents were filled to the utmost, other men from the battle and rifle pits were left outside on the grass.

One very hot day a soldier lay with upturned face exposed to the pitiless heat of the Virginian sun. The bandages around his arm and leg were stiff and hard with blood. Was he black or white? Dirt, powder, and sunburn made it difficult to determine. Was he dead or asleep? He did not move. To inexperienced eyes he did not seem to breathe even, but water on the rags about the wounds, water on his lips, water on his f ace and head, had the desired effect, and his eyes slowly opened. With such material as I could find in the vicinity, a little improvised tent was put up over his head, face and neck. One of the doctors, coming hurriedly by and seeing my attempt to protect the man from the hot sun, called out, "Bully for you Miss Ohio! I'm awfully busy, but I'll try to come back and give you a little help with that fellow. Feed him some punch."

Among the wounded men lying in one of the tents another day - men recently brought from the very Front and waiting to get to Washington -was a soldier who called out "Say, Ohio Relief, what's your name, please? " Pointing to my badge, I replied, " There's my name." " Well, Sister Ohio," said the soldier, "I am from that State too, and the worst of it is I am hungry, and the orderly has too much to do to bother with me. What are you going to do for a fellow who wants to eat and can't feed himself?" Both arms were shot through and he was helpless. I soon found that he was ready for bread-and-milk, and liked it better than anything else. So my supplies of crackers, toasted bread, and condensed milk were put to good use. I fed my wounded Ohioan for several days, until he was carried to a Washington hospital.

Many months afterwards, this same soldier, in the uniform of a Major, with his left sleeve empty, called at my home in Ohio, and said: "You see, I found out your name and who you were. So I have come to thank you and to have some bread and-milk with you. But you won't have to feed me this time."

Later, this soldier honoured me with the suggestion that I take bread-and-milk with him all his life!

Outside a tent, under the ropes which held it in place, lay a soldier-boy, groaning, and doubled-up with pain. "I'm just sorry for him, Miss Ohio, said the orderly, in a kindly voice," but he can't be 'lowed in the tent; it's chuck full of wounded men now. He's got the cramps and he don't stay in one spot very long. He was over the other side until a few minutes ago. I'm too awful busy to 'tend to him." In my supplies were medicines for dysentery, and so I went to work. Careful feeding, regular medicine, a warm blanket on the grass, with the added oil of kindness, did the work, and in time the lone boy was in fair condition for the next boat-load to Washington.

When other duties to the suffering soldiers allowed a respite, Father Prugh held a short, informal service of song and cheer, in each tent. Here a girl could really help.

Frankey was a Michigan boy. Our duty was first to the men of Ohio, and after that to any one else. The lad had been terribly hurt, shot throng both arms and one leg, and his wounds were full of gangrene and vermin. Frankey had lied about his age and had run away from home to enlist. He was only a boy.

"Miss Ohio," said the doctor, "that little fellow thinks he is to have a furlough and that he is to go home to his mother. But he isn't. He's going to die. Don't make him feel badly - but - oh, well, do as you like." The boy responded to every kindness and wanted "Sister Ohio" to take care of his precious possessions - green-and-yellow skein of sewing-silk taken at Fairfax Court-House, and a ring he had cut out of a nut when his leg had been hurt but when he could still use his arm. He talked of his furlough and his mother and the Sunday School, and how glad he was that he had been in the fight. At last his mind was turned to the thought that perhaps, he might not be able to go home to his mother that his furlough was to be a very long one, and that in the Father's house he would meet his mother and tell her how sorry he was that he had lied. At the service that Sunday afternoon he asked that we sing his favourite hymn. It may sound a bit old-fashioned now, but the boy loved it - "There is a happy land, far, far away." He tried to join in the singing; and when we sang the hymn "I have a Saviour in the Promised Land," he wanted us to go over it twice. Before the next boat-load was shipped to Washington, Frankey had entered into the Land where there is no war. He said "good-bye" that Sunday afternoon and gave me as a token of remembrance the tiny skein of silk; the other things I was to send to his mother. "Please, Sister Ohio," he said, "you tell her I am all right inside, and you are my sister, you know. Maybe I won't be here to-morrow, so will you kiss me 'good-bye,' 'cause my mother ain't here?" So I kissed him.

At the end of a row of men lying on the ground in one of the tents, one day, was a man so wounded that he had severe hemorrhages. "Don't waste any time on him, Miss Ohio," an orderly said. "He is a goner; he will never get to a hospital." The poor fellow knew it himself, all too well, but, as I sat by him, he said, "Will you write to my wife and tell her to make my children know that I gave my life for my country? I want my boy to know about his father. Tell them I thought of them." The story was written in full. I added a tiny lock of hair and a special message from the father to the boy who bore his name, and as I read it to the suffering man, his gratitude was expressed in a whispered "God bless you." As night came on I gave him a verse of comfort and strength from God's Word, and as I left him he said, longingly, Sister Ohio, please come here first in the morning, and if --." At the first break of the dawn I was there, but his place on the grass was empty. A sudden severe hemorrhage and his spirit had been released. The body had been taken away, for there was no time for delay. I hurried to the cemetery. There were so many who had died in the night, and there was so much to do for those who were suffering, that there was no time for services. But as that body was laid underground, "Sister Ohio" was kindly allowed by the man in charge to have the spade of earth held for a moment while a verse and a short prayer were repeated.

When the Army base was moved to City Point, there was much delay in the arrival of the stores and goods. There were tents, but beds and blankets did not come until later. Our food was of the simplest sort for a day or two. Johnny, a drummer boy, detailed temporarily to the Christian Commission tent near by, all unseen, rolled in a can of peaches under the edge of the canvas of our tent, and later came peeping in to say, " Well, Sister Ohio, I'm from good old Bosting, but just you count on me if you need anything." When he went back to the Front, he asked for a little piece off the side of my blue-check apron as a memento of our friendly acquaintance. Many years, -yes, very many years afterwards - a bald, gray, bent man, worn and disabled, called to see me, and asked if I were Sister Ohio, and did I remember Johnny, the drummer-boy at City Point?

While it was true that at City Point we only had a tent, yet each of us had a big shawl, and there was a log for a pillow and a grassy floor to lie on. On the first night an officer came along at dusk and said: "There is a lady alone whom we want to accommodate. She has business with Headquarters. All we can do is to ask you ladies to take her in as your guest to-night." We gladly gave her a share of our log pillow, and I divided my warm shawl with her as a covering. It was dusk when she came, it was early dawn when she left. So our guest, Clara Barton, who later organized the American Red Cross, and was its first President, did not know who had been her hostess. Years afterwards, Dr. Amory Bradford, of Montclair, held a series of meetings in his church, giving one day to addresses on the work of women. There were three speakers - a lady from Boston, Clara Barton, and myself. With the permission of Dr. Bradford, I was allowed to introduce the speaker who followed me. I had never seen Clara Barton since the night we had spent together under my blanket-shawl at City Point. I told the story of the stranger who came to us that night in the tent, and then presented Miss Barton to the audience. With her cloak thrown back, showing its gay lining, the medals on her breast flashing, and her face full of light and life, she extended her hand and, clasping mine, said: "I have often wondered who the girl was who gave me a part of her pillow and warm shawl, and I have always wanted to thank her for her hospitality, and to meet her again-and now I say, God bless you." The hearty cheers of that big audience one can never forget.

My evenings at the Front were all needed for writing letters - letters to mothers, wives, and sweethearts. One very warm night as I sat at my desk, which was the top of a packing box, writing by the light of a candle, the entrance-curtain of my tent was pushed back and a man, not a soldier, came in to have a social chat with my tent-mate, a widow. I was introduced; that was all. I had many letters to get off, and was not there for any social calls. Late that night, when my widow friend was out on some errand, a tap on my tentpole roused me. "Who is there?" I asked. "What is wanted?" A man's voice replied, giving his name, and making it evident that he had utterly mistaken my character and my mission. My sharp reply was followed by my taking up a hatchet with which I had opened a box, and, clanging it down upon a pile of nails which lay there, saying, with a tone and emphasis which he could understand, "The first man who crosses the threshold of this tent will be a dead man." The vile creature did not walk away, he ran-with all his might.

For the first time in all her experiences at the Front "Sister Ohio" called upon the kind services of Father Prugh and the staff of royal young men with him. That midnight caller left for Washington the next day.

Furlough-time was up for some of the party; the widow had special business to attend to in Cincinnati; and so I went to my home in Cleveland, Ohio.

An article Lucy published in Providence Journal, Monday Morning, June 22, 1874
INDIANAPOLIS AND CLEVELAND

The Growth of Western Cities - The Swine of Indianapolis - Efforts for Temperance Reform

Correspondence of the Providence Journal.

CLEVELAND, 0. June 8.

There is a story told here in Indianapolis, of an old lady down east somewhere, whose son moved out to Chicago. The aged parent had many anxieties about her boy, wondering if in that howling wilderness of the west her son would find any religious privileges. When she heard that he had married a hoosier girl from this vicinity, her anxieties changed into grief and anger that her boy could so degrade his family "as to go and marry one of them 'ere squaws." Eastern people are not as green, as the western brothers suppose. They know more about the west than they get credit for; yet it is true that to fully appreciate the west with its wondrous growth and future wealth, one must see it for himself. The good people of Indianapolis however do not call this the west at all. "This is the hub," they say, the central point of this continent." I don't know but they would go so far as to say that this is the central point of the world, round it all else revolves, for it all else was made. Indianapolis people are noted in the past for being brags, and it is very evident that they still possess the gift. As to the statement that this is the healthiest spot of the known world, with the lowest death rate, and going to be bigger in a few years than St. Louis or Chicago, we listen incredulously but still admit it to be a fine city of nearly a hundred thousand. It is the centre of twelve railroads and other lines touch it. The city is also increasing its manufacturing interests and had advantages over many other cities in its surrounding wealth of iron and block coal.

Occupying a very central place in the corn belt, as it is so called, and the word corn is synonymous with hog, the pork trade of Indianapolis is immense, and exceeds either Cincinnati or Chicago.

As Providence can rightly boast of the largest silver ware manufactory of the world, so Indianapolis can boast of the largest slaughter house of the world, and it is well worth visiting. In seven minutes from the time the poor hog reaches the end of the chute or inclined way, he is killed, washed, cleaned, cut up and sent down to be cooled off and salted down.

I had always supposed that the killing was done by a blow upon the head, but I found it a much more merciful process. One man stands at the end of the chute and fastens a chain to the leg of the hog. It is instantly suspended before another man who stabs right to the heart, with a long sharp knife, of each animal as it is placed before him. Another takes it down, then dead, and pushes it into a large tank of scalding water. Others lift it from that out to a table, where men are constantly cleaning off the hair. Further on the entrails are taken out. Again the hog has the knife used on his back and neck, and the next man with cleavers cuts the bones, and Mr. hog goes down the trap door and is hung up to a rest in the cold regions of salt and ice below. After some days he is taken out, cut up into proper pieces and packed away in salt in a cold room, and after weeks here, the pork is boxed and shipped to England.

In the winter, this firm of Thomas D. Kingan & Co. alone kill from 1800 to 2200 hogs per day. In the summer time not over 1300 per day.

From 200 to 250 tierces of lard with an average weight of 320 pounds, are ready for shipping each day.

The tongues are sent to the East and West Indies, one hundred and twelve kegs of them being exported every month, while the shipments of all the products average eighteen car loads per day. The Liverpool market at present is ready for all they can send. It is an interesting fact that in the matter of pork the Americans have a different taste from their English cousins. The pork now being shipped across the water would not suit the home trade.

I was shown a fine looking old Democrat of Indiana, who is to spend the next Presidential term at the White House if the prophecies of some of this people prove true. I fear he would not please the eastern people who favor contraction as he strongly inclines to expansion, as the people of Indiana as a general thing do.

The great tidal wave of temperance has reached the women of Indianapolis and they are working in their own way in the good cause. Each city seems to have manners and methods of working peculiar to itself. Buffalo is working in one way, Cleveland in another and Indianapolis in still another. In order that a man shall have the privilege of keeping a liquor saloon in this city he must first secure the names of twenty-four responsible men, all free holders. Names given in this way have been kept always very quiet, but of late the women have had such lists published, and the men who uphold the saloons are known.

Mass temperance meetings are held once or twice a week, and there is a general feeling of interest in the subject. In Cleveland the work, as all know, is of the character called "the crusade." Looking at this work from a distance of seven hundred miles, and knowing but little of it in detail, one would naturally feel but little sympathy with its style of operation. A nearer view, however, dispels prejudice. The Women's Temperance League is well organized, with its president and other officers, its advisory committee, praying bands, each with its leader, and over five hundred names enrolled of the very best women of Cleveland.

Mass meetings are held each week, where the ladies preside and take part intelligently, and smaller meetings are held every week in each ward. Every Sunday afternoon a religious service is held on the Detroit docks by a few of the ladies, led by the wife of a prominent lawyer of this city. It was my privilege to be there yesterday. After the singing of a hymn, the audience were assembled, quiet and attentive. About three hundred men and boys from the captain to the lowest deck hands of the various vessels in port, rough, dirty men, listened for an hour and a half to the simple presentation of gospel truth as it was given by the ladies, in prayer, singing and earnest pleadings with them as a mother would plead with a wayward boy. Many of them endeavored to join in concert in the Lord's prayer, and the meeting quietly broke up, each man accepting a prayer or tract pertaining to temperance and Christianity. The League have had a visit from Mother Stewart, of Springfield, the so-called "Joan of Arc" of the temperance work in Ohio. She inspired the ladies in Cleveland with fresh enthusiasm. A band of two hundred women went with her to some of the saloons for prayer and conversation. But few of these could get in; but they stood waiting in line offering up silent prayer. The bands are usually composed of but six or eight. These go out regularly together, having a leader and a part of the city assigned, in which they work each time. The leader opens the door of the saloon and asks courteously, if the owner is willing that the ladies should come in. In some cases there is a flat refusal. Others hesitate - and as an Irishman did, for instance: "I hates to send yees off, but," shaking the head, "no I hates to; that I do, bedad. Shure and yees may come in and shust sing and that's all!" The band enters and sings "Jesus, lover of my soul," when Mr. McBarney says: "Yees may do what yees want to for tin minits!" The ten minutes are used with one earnest prayer for the tempter and the tempted; the doors and windows are full of rough men, who listen to every word. Singing follows while some of the ladies converse with the men and offer them the pledge. The ten minutes gone, the ladies thank Mr. McBarney for his courtesy, and as he says, "The Holy Mother bless ye," they go quietly out.

In one saloon, a few days ago, a man came in during prayer and threw down his money, saying, "Give me some whiskey," with an oath. "If you have no respect for ladies, I have," said the proprietor. "I know it's a mean business he said afterward, "I don't like it but I have some respect left. Come, ladies, do all you can, whenever you wish."

A saloon on River street was visited in this way by the ladies. In conversation they learned that the keeper was the son of a clergyman, now dead, and in the back part of that saloon was a portion of the library of the father. The man gave up his business, turned out his liquors, the ladies assisted him, and in that place now there is a temperance coffee and tea room, and doing a good business.

A small hotel, which had its bar, was kept by a young man, son of a praying mother. The Christian women prayed and plead with him. He said it's wrong, and I will give it up next Saturday night. "Can you afford to sin three days longer," said the leader. "No," was the reply, "I will turn it all out to night," and he did, and he told the ladies afterward he was happier and his business better than it had been for a long time past. An elderly gentleman who has drank for thirty-five years, has been hopefully converted, and is a strong temperance man. He told the story of life at a meeting of the ladies at the Bethel, and a poor drinking sailor was much moved. The next day, before breakfast, he sought out one of the ladies, and asked with great emotion, if she thought God would forgive and help him to conquer, for he had drank twenty years.

There is an incident which occurred last week under my own personal knowledge, which shows what has been done in the State. A wholesale leather dealer received a letter from one of his customers, living in a small town in Ohio, which read in this way: "Please send me down a couple of gallons of good old whiskey, boxed, by express, for a man can't get a drop to drink in this town."

The ladies are determined to persevere and carry on this work steadily and earnestly, until intemperance shall be conquered as slavery has been. May God speed the right.

In Her Office at the New York City Mission Society

Selected Publications by
Lucy Seaman Bainbridge:

Woman's Medical Work
in Foreign Missions
Women's Board of Foreign Missions,
The Presbyterian Church,
New York, 1886.
"The Work as Seen in Foreign Lands"
Missions: A Baptist Monthly Magazine
Vol. 12, No. 6, June 1921, pp. 349-350.

With Helen

From the New York Herald Tribune, November 21, 1928
Civil War Nurse and Writer:

Mrs. Lucy Seaman Bainbridge

Mrs. Bainbridge is Dead

at 86: Was Nurse in 1864

Services for Welfare Worker and Writer This Afternoon at Gramercy Park Home

Funeral services for Mrs. Lucy Seaman Bainbridge, Civil War nurse, writer and welfare worker, who died Monday, will be held at 2 o'clock this afternoon at her home, 34 Gramercy Park. Burial will be in Woodlawn Cemetery.

Mrs. Bainbridge, who was eighty-six years old, was the widow of the Rev. William Folwell Bainbridge. A son, Dr. William Seaman Bainbridge, surgeon, survives. Dr. Bainbridge, a commander in the United States Naval Reserve represented this country last year at the International Conference on Military Medicine and Surgery in Warsaw, Poland.

Born in Cleveland, Mrs. Bainbridge was educated at the seminary at Ipswich, Mass., and was one of the first women to go into the field with the Union Army as nurse, Her work brought her in touch with Clara Barton, with whom she occupied a tent for a time. As a girl she had been presented to President Lincoln, who clasped her hand saying, "Daughter, I am right glad to see you." Later, on the battlefield, she saw the wartime President again, talking to General Grant.

While serving as a nurse Mrs. Bainbridge was known as Sister Ohio, a name which came to her because she wore the succoring badge of the Ohio Relief, and given to her by a Union trooper with both arms wounded to whom she brought water and food. These experiences on the battlefield and also her meeting with Lincoln were described by her in her autobiography "Yesterdays."

Mrs. Bainbridge was active in the development of foreign missions and she also organized the women's department of the Brooklyn City Mission Society. For a quarter of a century she was superintendent of the woman's branch, New York City Mission Society, of which, she was honorary president at the time of her death.

Out of her mission work here and abroad Mrs. Bainbridge wrote three books, "Jewels From the Orient," "Round the World Letters" and "Helping the Helpless in New York," which deals with her efforts toward improving tenement conditions here.

Her Son Reads to Her in Summer, 1928,
at Maple Hill Farm in Bethel, Connecticut.

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