August, ‘61.
Dear Girls: I have wrenched this opportunity from Abby to take my turn in writing you. It is as good as a fight to attempt to do anything useful in this family. Each one considers it her peculiar province, and if I manage to tuck in a handkerchief or two in the next box of hospital supplies I shall consider myself successful beyond expectation—speaking of which, T. D. brought in a splended lot last night that we had commissioned him to get the night before. . . . Abby says, “would you like three or four hundred brown duck havelocks for any of the brigade?” They can be bought ready-made. If so, find out from the quartermaster of the DeKalb regiment which pattern he thinks best, and let us know. In this connection I would advise that you answer all questions that we ask, and don’t suppose that they are put in to fill up. Mother and Charley are still in Astoria; they drove out in C’s little wagon Tuesday evening. I think mother repented before she got to the corner. I arranged her toes under the iron bar of the dash-board so that she could have that at least to hold on by, in case the horse went off the slow walk which Charley promised to keep to. . . . We have been holding a family conclave down in Mother’s room in which it has been decided,—that is, after bullying the girls into consent,—that Charley and I go up to Lenox on Monday, and engage rooms for the following Friday somewhere, if not in Lenox then in Lebanon. But go we must—the girls will slave themselves to death if we stay in town, and nothing short of heroic decision on our part will induce them to leave.
