Part 5 (1/2)
Mother, have you heard anything from Han? And about Mary's f.a.n.n.y--I hope you will write me soon and tell me everything, tell me exactly as things are, but I know you will--I want to hear family affairs before anything else. I am so glad to hear Mat is good and hearty--you must write me about Hat and little Black Head too. Mother, how is Eddy getting along? and Jess, is he about the same? I suppose Will Brown is home all right; tell him I spoke about him, and the Browns too. Dearest Mother, I send you my love, and to Jeff too--must write when you can.
WALT.
XIX
_Was.h.i.+ngton, Aug. 18, 1863._ DEAR MOTHER--I was mighty glad to get George's letter, I can tell you--you have not heard since, I suppose. They must be now back again in Kentucky, or that way, as I see [by] a letter from Cairo (up the Mississippi river) that boats had stopt there with the 9th Corps on from Vicksburg, going up towards Cincinnati--I think the letter was dated Aug. 10. I have no doubt they are back again up that way somewhere. I wrote to George four or five days ago--I directed it Ohio, Mississippi, or elsewhere. Mother, I was very glad indeed to get your letter--I am so sorry Andrew does not get any better; it is very distressing about losing the voice; he must not be so much alarmed, as that continues some times years and the health otherwise good. ..........
Mother, I wrote to Han about five days ago; told her we had heard from George, and all the news--I must write to Mary too, without fail--I should like to hear from them all, and from f.a.n.n.y. There has been a young man here in hospital, from Farmingdale; he was wounded; his name is Hendrickson; he has gone home on a furlough; he knows the Van Nostrands very well--I told him to go and see Aunt f.a.n.n.y. I was glad you gave Emma Price my direction here; I should [like] to hear from Mrs. Price and her girls first rate, I think a great deal about them--and mother, I wish you to tell any of them so; they always used me first rate, and always stuck up for me--if I knew their street and number I should write.
It has been awful hot here now for twenty-one days; ain't that a spell of weather? The first two weeks I got along better than I would have thought, but the last week I have felt it more, have felt it in my head a little--I no more stir without my umbrella, in the day time, than I would without my boots. I am afraid of the sun affecting my head and move pretty cautious.
Mother, I think every day, I wonder if the hot weather is affecting mother much; I suppose it must a good deal, but I hope it cannot last much longer. Mother, I had a letter in the N. Y. _Times_ of last Sunday--did you see it? I wonder if George can't get a furlough and come home for a while; that furlough he had was only a flea-bite. If he could it would be no more than right, for no man in the country has done his duty more faithful, and without complaining of anything or asking for anything, than George. I suppose they will fill up the 51st with conscripts, as that seems the order of the day--a good many are arriving here, from the North, and pa.s.sing through to join Meade's army. We are expecting to hear of more rows in New York about the draft; it commences there right away I see--this time it will be no such doings as a month or five weeks ago; the Gov't here is forwarding a large force of regulars to New York to be ready for anything that may happen--there will be no blank cartridges this time.
Well, I thought when I first heard of the riot in N. Y. I had some feeling for them, but soon as I found what it really was, I felt it was the devil's own work all through. I guess the strong arm will be exhibited this time up to the shoulder. Mother, I want to see you and all very much.
As I wish to be here at the opening of Congress, and during the winter, I have an idea I will try to come home for a month, but I don't know when--I want to see the young ones and Mat and Jeff and everybody. Well, mother, I should like to know all the domestic affairs at home; don't you have the usual things eating, etc.? Why, mother, I should think you would eat nearly all your meals with Mat--I know you must when they have anything good (and I know Mat will have good things if she has got a cent left).
Mother, don't you miss _Walt_ loafing around, and carting himself off to New York toward the latter part of every afternoon? How do you and the Browns get along?--that h.e.l.l hole over the way, what a nuisance it must be nights, and I generally have a very good sleep. Mother, I suppose you sleep in the back room yet--I suppose the new houses next door are occupied. How I should like to take a walk on old Fort Greene--tell Mannahatta her Uncle Walt will be home yet, from the sick soldiers, and have a good walk all around, if she behaves to her grandmother and don't cut up. Mother, I am scribbling this hastily in Major Hapgood's office; it is not so hot to-day, quite endurable. I send you my love, dear mother, and to all, and wish Jeff and you to write as often as you can.
WALT.
XX
_Was.h.i.+ngton, Aug. 25, 1863._ DEAR MOTHER--The letter from George, and your lines, and a few from Jeff came yesterday, and I was glad indeed to be certain that George had got back to Kentucky safe and well--while so many fall that we know, or, what is about as bad, get sick or hurt in the fight, and lay in hospital, it seems almost a miracle that George should have gone through so much, South and North and East and West, and been in so many hard-fought battles, and thousands of miles of weary and exhausting marches, and yet have stood it so, and be yet alive and in good health and spirits. O mother, what would we [have] done if it had been otherwise--if he had met the fate of so many we know--if he had been killed or badly hurt in some of those battles? I get thinking about it sometimes, and it works upon me so I have to stop and turn my mind on something else. Mother, I feel bad enough about Andrew, and I know it must be so with you too--one don't know what to do; if we had money he would be welcome to it, if it would do any good. If George's money comes from Kentucky this last time, and you think some of it would do Andrew any real good, I advise you to take some and give him--I think it would be proper and George would approve of it. I believe there is not much but trouble in this world, and if one hasn't any for himself he has it made up by having it brought close to him through others, and that is sometimes worse than to have it touch one's self. Mother, you must not let Andrew's case and the poor condition of his household comforts, etc., work upon you, for I fear you will--but, mother, it's no use to worry about such things. I have seen so much horrors that befall men (so bad and such suffering and mutilations, etc., that the poor men can defy their fate to do anything more or any harder misfortune or worse a-going) that I sometimes think I have grown callous--but no, I don't think it is that, but nothing of ordinary misfortune seems as it used to, and death itself has lost all its terrors--I have seen so many cases in which it was so welcome and such a relief.
Mother, you must just resign yourself to things that occur--but I hardly think it is necessary to give you any charge about it, for I think you have done so for many years, and stood it all with good courage.
We have a second attack of hot weather--Sunday was the most burning day I ever yet saw. It is very dry and dusty here, but to-day we are having a middling good breeze--I feel pretty well, and whenever the weather for a day or so is pa.s.sably cool I feel really first rate, so I antic.i.p.ate the cooler season with pleasure. Mother, I believe I wrote to you I had a letter in N. Y. _Times_, Sunday, 16th--I shall try to write others and more frequently. The three _Eagles_ came safe; I was glad to get them--I sent them and another paper to George. Mother, none of you ever mention whether you get my letters, but I suppose they come safe--it is not impossible I may miss some week, but I have not missed a single one for months past. I wish I could send you something worth while, and I wish I could send something for Andrew--mother, write me exactly how it is with him.... Mother, I have some idea Han is getting some better; it is only my idea somehow--I hope it is so from the bottom of my heart. Did you hear from Mary's f.a.n.n.y since? And how are Mat's girls? So, Mannahatta, you tear Uncle George's letters, do you? You mustn't do so, little girl, nor Uncle Walt's either; but when you get to be a big girl you must have them all nice, and read them, for Grandmother will perhaps leave them to you in her will, if you behave like a lady. Matty, my dear sister, how are you getting along? I really want to see you bad, and the baby too--well, may-be we shall all come together and have some good times yet. Jeff, I hope by next week this time we shall be in possession of Charleston--some papers say Burnside is moving for Knoxville, but it is doubtful--I think the 9th Corps might take a rest awhile, anyhow. Good-bye, mother.
WALT.
XXI
_Was.h.i.+ngton, Sept. 1, 1863._ DEAR MOTHER--I have been thinking to-day and all yesterday about the draft in Brooklyn, and whether Jeff would be drafted; you must some of you write me just as soon as you get this--I want to know; I feel anxious enough I can tell you--and besides, it seems a good while since I have received any letters from home. Of course it is impossible for Jeff to go, in case it should turn out he was drafted--the way our family is all situated now, it would be madness. If the Common Council raise the money to exempt men with families dependent on them, I think Jeff ought to have no scruples in taking advantage of it, as I think he is in duty bound--but we will see what course to take, when we know the result, etc.; write about it right away.
The _Eagles_ came; this is the second time; I am glad to get them--Jeff, wait till you get four or five, and then send them with a two-cent stamp.
I have not had any letter from George. Mother, have you heard anything?
did the money come? Dear mother, how are you nowadays? I do hope you feel well and in good spirits--I think about you every day of my life out here.
Sometimes I see women in the hospitals, mothers come to see their sons, and occasionally one that makes me think of my dear mother--one did very much, a lady about 60, from Pennsylvania, come to see her son, a captain, very badly wounded and his wound gangrened, and they after a while removed him to a tent by himself. Another son of hers, a young man, came with her to see his brother. She was a pretty full-sized lady, with spectacles; she dressed in black--looked real Velsory.[17] I got very well acquainted with her; she had a real Long Island old-fas.h.i.+oned way--but I had to avoid the poor captain, as it was that time that my hand was cut in the artery, and I was liable to gangrene myself--but she and the two sons have gone home now, but I doubt whether the wounded one is alive, as he was very low. Mother, I want to hear about Andrew too, whether he went to Rockland lake. You have no idea how many soldiers there are who have lost their voices, and have to speak in whispers--there are a great many, I meet some almost every day; as far as that alone is concerned, Andrew must not be discouraged, as the general health may be good as common irrespective of that. I do hope Andrew will get along better than he thinks for--it is bad enough for a poor man to be out of health even partially, but he must try to look on the bright side. Mother, have you heard anything from Han since, or from Mary's folks? I got a letter from Mrs. Price last week; if you see Emma tell her I was pleased to get it, and shall answer it very soon. Mother, I have sent another letter to the N. Y. _Times_--it may appear, if not to-day, within a few days. I am feeling excellent well these days, it is so moderate and pleasant weather now; I was getting real exhausted with the heat. I thought of you too, how it must have exhausted you those hot days. I still occupy the same 3rd story room, 394 L st., and get my breakfast in my room in the morning myself, and dinner at a restaurant about 3 o'clock--I get along very well and very economical (which is a forced put, but just as well). But I must get another room or a boarding-house soon, as the folks are all going to move this month. My good and real friends the O'Connors live in the same block; I am in there every day. Dear mother, tell Mat and Miss Mannahatta I send them my love--I want to see them both. O how I want to see Jeff and you, mother; I sometimes feel as if I should just get in the cars and come home--and the baby too, you must always write about her. Dear mother, good-bye for present.
WALT.
XXII
_Was.h.i.+ngton, Sept. 8, 1863, Tuesday morning._ DEAREST MOTHER--I wrote to Jeff Sunday last that his letter sent Sept. 3rd, containing your letter and $5 from Mr. Lane, had miscarried--this morning when I came down to Major Hapgood's office I found it on my table, so it is all right--singular where it has been all this while, as I see the postmark on it is Brooklyn, Sept. 3, as Jeff said. Mother, what to do about Andrew I hardly know--as it is I feel about as much pity for you as I do for my poor brother Andrew, for I know you will worry yourself about him all the time. I was in hopes it was only the trouble about the voice, etc., but I see I was mistaken, and it is probably worse. I know you and Jeff and Mat will do all you can--and will have patience with all (it is not only the sick who are poorly off, but their friends; but it is best to have the greatest forbearance, and do and give, etc., whatever one can--but you know that, and practice it too, dear mother). Mother, if I had the means, O how cheerfully I would give them, whether they availed anything for Andrew or not--yet I have long made up my mind that money does not amount to so much, at least not so very much, in serious cases of sickness; it is judgment both in the person himself, and in those he has to do with--and good heart in everything. (Mother, you remember Theodore Gould, how he stuck it out, though sickness and death has had hold of him, as you may say, for fifteen years.) But anyhow, I hope we will all do what we can for Andrew. Mother, I think I must try to come home for a month--I have not given up my project of lecturing I spoke about before, but shall put it in practice yet; I feel clear it will succeed enough. (I wish I had some of the money already; it would be satisfaction to me to contribute something to Andrew's necessities, for he must have bread.) I will write to you, of course, before I come. Mother, I hope you will live better--Jeff tells me you and Jess and Ed live on poor stuff, you are so economical. Mother, you mustn't do so as long as you have a cent--I hope you will, at least four or five times a week, have a steak of beef or mutton, or something substantial for dinner. I have one good meal of that kind every day, or at least five or six days out of the seven--but for breakfast I have nothing but a cup of tea and some bread or crackers (first-rate tea though, with milk and good white sugar). Well, I find it is hearty enough--more than half the time I never eat anything after dinner, and when I do it is only a cracker and cup of tea. Mother, I hope you will not stint yourselves--as to using George's money for your and Jess's and Ed's needful living expenses, I know George would be mad and hurt in his feelings if he thought you was afraid to. Mother, you have a comfortable time as much as you can, and get a steak occasionally, won't you? I suppose Mat got her letter last Sat.u.r.day; I sent it Friday. O I was so pleased that Jeff was not drawn, and I know how Mat must have felt too; I have no idea the Government will try to draft again, whatever happens--they have carried their point, but have not made much out of it. O how the conscripts and subst.i.tutes are deserting down in front and on their way there--you don't hear anything about it, but it is incredible--they don't allow it to get in the papers. Mother, I was so glad to get your letter; you must write again--can't you write to-morrow, so I can get it Friday or Sat.u.r.day?--you know though you wrote more than a week ago I did not get it till this morning. I wish Jeff to write too, as often as he can. Mother, I was gratified to hear you went up among the soldiers--they are rude in appearance, but they know what is decent, and it pleases them much to have folks, even old women, take an interest and come among them. Mother, you must go again, and take Mat. Well, dear mother, I must close. I am first rate in health, so much better than a month and two months ago--my hand has entirely healed. I go to hospital every day or night--I believe no men ever loved each other as I and some of these poor wounded sick and dying men love each other. Good-bye, dearest mother, for present.
WALT.
_Tuesday afternoon._ Mother, it seems to be certain that Meade has gained the day, and that the battles there in Pennsylvania have been about as terrible as any in the war--I think the killed and wounded there on both sides were as many as eighteen or twenty thousand--in one place, four or five acres, there were a thousand dead at daybreak on Sat.u.r.day morning.
Mother, one's heart grows sick of war, after all, when you see what it really is; every once in a while I feel so horrified and disgusted--it seems to me like a great slaughter-house and the men mutually butchering each other--then I feel how impossible it appears, again, to retire from this contest, until we have carried our points (it is cruel to be so tossed from pillar to post in one's judgment). Was.h.i.+ngton is a pleasant place in some respects--it has the finest trees, and plenty of them everywhere, on the streets and grounds. The Capitol grounds, though small, have the finest cultivated trees I ever see--there is a great variety, and not one but is in perfect condition. After I finish this letter I am going out there for an hour's recreation. The great sights of Was.h.i.+ngton are the public buildings, the wide streets, the public grounds, the trees, the Smithsonian inst.i.tute and grounds. I go to the latter occasionally--the inst.i.tute is an old fogy concern, but the grounds are fine. Sometimes I go up to Georgetown, about two and a half miles up the Potomac, an old town--just opposite it in the river is an island, where the n.i.g.g.e.rs have their first Was.h.i.+ngton reg't encamped. They make a good show, are often seen in the streets of Was.h.i.+ngton in squads. Since they have begun to carry arms, the Secesh here and in Georgetown (about three fifths) are not insulting to them as formerly.