Transcription
"Heroism"
We Cannot All Engage In High Adventure, But Each One Of Us Can Do Her Bit
by Helen Keller
Down in the South, where I have been trying to make friends for the blind, I had some exciting adventures last Spring. We (my friends, the automobile and I) would set out early in the morning to reach some place where I was to speak that evening. Usually the mornings were exquisitely beautiful, especially in Kentucky, where the marvelous blue grass stretches for leagues upon leagues along the highway. My friends were always watching the sloping pastures for the blue hue, which is only seen by the uninitiated in a certain slant of light. I used to wonder why they were more interested in the blue grass than in the frolicking colts digging their heels into the turf. Everywhere forsythia waved its golden sprays, coquetting with the breezes, and on wall and tree the wisteria hung out its bright treasure to decoy bees into its honeyed clusters.
Then I would feel the car slowing down and smell a spring freshet tumbling down the mountainside. The mighty rush of it warned us to go cautiously; somewhere there would be a washout, and the water would hold us up like an army with banners. Sometimes it was necessary to make long detours in order to avoid the washouts. Sometimes we would cross an old-fashioned covered bridge on which the spring rain would beat like horses' feet. As we approached the opposite bank I could smell the wet clover and the blossoming trees.
As we raced along, always there was in my mind a vivid picture of two brave Southern women who often traverse these mountains and the mountains of Georgia to succor the sick and the injured and bring the light of knowledge to people buried alive in remote hamlets.
Mrs. Breckinridge began her work with two nurses. Riding horseback in all weather, they found their way to rough cabins, made friends with the children, took care of the sick, helped and advised weary mothers and brought their babies into the world with skillful treatment unknown up there before. Today twenty-eight nurses and three supervisors, with headquarters at Lexington, serve a region in seven counties that cannot be reached except by mountain trails. These women are ready at a moment's notice to face any danger on expeditions of aid. A mountaineer need only send in a distress call and a nurse is on her way -- a messenger of comfort -- to render whatever service may be needed. In Winter, that means hard riding on rocky trails, up icy slopes where one must get off his horse and cut a way through the ice. In the floods of early Spring, the nurses may have to swim their horses over swollen rivers and creeks.
Mary Breckinridge tells this story: She found among her patients several who needed hospital care. Just at that time the Middle Fork River rose in a surging, muddy tide, burying the wagon road, but undaunted, Mary Breckinridge managed to crowd a woman, some children and herself into a small flatboat, piloted by a tall mountaineer. Standing with a long pole in his hand, he steered the whirling craft for ten hours down that terrific tide, avoiding rocks and shooting many rapids, finally bringing his little craft to a safe landing.
Martha Berry is another heroic woman who has made her life a wellspring of blessing to the mountain people of Georgia. Her family were wealthy aristocrats. Beyond their great plantation rose the picturesque mountains of the Blue Ridge, barely supporting a forlorn, despised people in small, rough clearings who could not read or write. They lived eight or ten to a cabin, under-nourished and without medical aid.
Alone of her family and caste, Martha Berry had faith in the capabilities of those humble folk and the will to develop them. She left finishing school and gave up all the gaieties of plantation society. She refused suitors who offered her luxury and elegance and gave up the joy of motherhood so that ten thousand Georgian girls might have a chance in life. She withdrew to a cabin retreat to read and study, made friends with the half wild mountaineers, young and old, and taught them. She rode on horseback, carrying her torch of knowledge and comfort ever farther into the mountains, and often it was necessary to spend the night in one of the cabins, sleeping with the girls, three or four to a bed.
There in that remote region of the Southern Appalachians, she found more than a million victims of poverty, ignorance and ill-health needing her help. For thirty years she had devoted herself tirelessly to their welfare, and today she is still laboring without letup or rest in their behalf. She deeded her inheritance to her schools, she plunged into debt recklessly, scrubbing, toiling, teaching, taking more children and still more into the schools each year. She has begged for money during thirty years throughout America until she has raised twenty-seven million dollars! But she has kept none of it for endowment, she has used every cent to teach one more girl or boy, and to equip her students for a life of usefulness and self-respect.
Of course all of us cannot engage in such high adventure, but each one of us can do her bit, and oh, how much there is to be done! The world is crying aloud for women to dare hardship and poverty, to work with sincerity of mind and singleness of purpose.
Our holiday is over, and September has come with its tasks and cares. Let us dare to choose the difficult road, and learn from such women as Mary Breckinridge and Martha Berry how we can leave the world in a better condition than we find it.
