Woolsey family letters during the War for the Union

March.

Dear Girls: May is busy concocting things for a fair she and Bertha hold to-day, for the benefit of our “brave volunteers.” Papa and mamma and aunties are to buy the things, and May is to spend the money in little books, the first day she is well enough to come over. Robert asked me to say that he sent a box of books to Eliza’s address, Ebbitt House, for some hospital library. They were chiefly English reviews, which were too good reading to give to any of the recruiting camps here, and he thought in a general hospital there would always be somebody who could appreciate them. I was glad to get Charley’s second letter and wish he could hear from us. .. .

Perhaps these winds will dry the roads and enable you to go comfortably at least to Joe’s camp. It is too bad to have Mother leave Washington just as March winds prepare the way for McClellan’s advance. I am ready, mind you, Georgy, to wait for McClellan just as long as he desires. Only I think unless he threatens the enemy in some way, and thus keeps them cooped up, he may wake up some morning and find them all flown southward and he left, stuck in the mud. I don’t see why he couldn’t have done on the Potomac last December what Halleck has just done on the Tennessee.

. . . I shall take great interest in the working of the educational and industrial movements among the blacks at Port Royal. A large party of teachers, with supplies of various kinds, seeds and sewing machines, etc., went out in the Atlantic. Some of the lady teachers are known to us through friends, and though the whole arrangement has been matured very rapidly, it seems to be under judicious oversight. Jane has a venture in it. She went into the office to collect information and to offer help, and was levied on for eight neat bed-spreads, which she purchased at Paton’s. We can imagine the lady teachers reposing on their camp cots, in those distant islands, under Jane’s quilts. . . .

I wish I could feel that the end of the war will see, (as Prof. Hitchcock said on Sunday), in all this wide country “not a master, not a slave, only all Christ’s Freemen.” . . .

Jane and I get along famously, as independent as two old maids. We are not even troubled with evening callers, but sit each in our armchair with a foot-stool, a cup o’ tea and a newspaper, and shall be very much “put out of the way” if Mother comes home from Washington. We write begging her not to think of it again. Her duty and pleasure are both to be with you, and I don’t want her to have a moment’s uneasiness about the thought of separation, even if she stays months.

Wednesday, February 26.

Encouraged by several windy days, which were likely to dry the roads, we ventured out to Joe’s camp for the first time since early in January, to show it to Mother and Hatty. The roads were unexpectedly good, the only really bad places being near the camp. J. had dined, but gave us a nice and hearty after-lunch, and Mother enjoyed the experience very much. While we were there the general order arrived placing the army in readiness to march at very short notice. Four wagons are allowed to each regiment, and quartermasters are to see that they are not heavily loaded: the men to carry knapsacks and blankets and the little shelter-tents large enough for three or four men to creep under. The order cast a gloom over our little visit, but the effect on the troops was very different. As we sat in J’s tent we could hear the cheers ringing through the camps as the order was read—three times three and a tiger.

Just before this J. H. had mailed a little box of trailing arbutus “from camp” to J. S. W. and this acknowledgment came back.

Arbutus from Camp, near Alexandria.
Sent by Capt. J. H., 1862.

“ Thank God for Spring!” I said;
While no one watches, through the gloomy hours
She walks the weary earth with noiseless tread
And fills the graves with flowers.

And, holding in my hand
My Soldier’s message, in its leaves I read
Through winter-sorrows of a weeping land
A dawn of Spring indeed!

Dull, sodden leaves o’er-strown,
Then, tears of rain, and then, these flowers for me.
The wild war horses tread the blossoms down
And set the sweetness free.

So get me flowers again
Dear Soldier;—not alone of Hope and Spring,
Flowers of full Summer, through the crimson rain
And battle thunder of the stormy plain,
Close on their blossoming!

Red roses, flushed and bold,
Red victor-roses,—sea-blue bells wide blown
That ring for joy the river-edges down,
And white Peace-lilies with the spike of gold
That clasp the perfect crown.

J. S. W.

February 21

We went yesterday to the Navy Yard and were very much interested in all we saw. They make 15,000 Enfield rifle and musket balls in every twelve hours, or 30,000 while (as now) they work day and night! They also turn out 800 rifled and other cannon balls a day, and three rifled brass cannons a week, besides the ordinary work of a ship-yard and naval station. Our usual luck attended us, for we fell in, by mere chance, with a young naval officer whom Hatty had met in Rome, and he took us about and, best of all, showed us all the rebel flags which are to be presented to Congress, so we had an opportunity, which probably no other outsiders have had, of trampling them privately under foot. The flags of Fort Donelson and Fort Henry were there—fresh and new and without the trace of a bullet hole—those taken from Roanoke and Hatteras, and the famous palmetto one which was replaced by the Stars and Stripes at Hilton Head. There was also a pretty little company flag made of choice silk and embroidered by ladies’ hands.

. . . Later. … News from Charley. “Inside of Hatteras inlet, just going up to Roanoke Island.” The voyage had been rough and wretched but he was well and happy. . . .

We had no letters of interest yesterday except one from Carry, which Mother enclosed to Charley at Roanoke Island. She gave a very funny account of a wretched swollen face she has had. The Doctor recommended a leech, so they sent for one, but were completely at a loss to tell its head from its tail, and finally with many pokes from a hairpin (a new use) they wriggled it into the tube and trusted to Providence to turn it right end up! During the process, however, she was foolish enough to faint dead away, and no sooner had she revived than Miss Parsons did the same. And Carry wanted to go as army nurse!

February 18th.

We have just packed and despatched Charley for Baltimore and Fortress Monroe, and are now writing notes of introduction for Mr. Vincent Colyer, who is to join him at the Fortress, and if possible take him with him to Roanoke and Port Royal. I have given him a note to Mr. Withers, and G. will write one to Dr. Bacon, and I only wish we had some jolly little things to slip into the envelopes too. Mr. Colyer is to take down a quantity of stores for the hospitals. Charley also has a large trunk full. We hear from private sources that the sick of the Burnside expedition have suffered terribly for actual necessities—water to wash with, and food to eat, and this six weeks after the expedition had started! . . .

Charley was at the War Department yesterday just after the news came of Grant’s success at Fort Donelson and Mr. McClure described McClellan as coming in “pale with excitement” to rejoice over the victory a moment with Stanton before going to work again. . . .

February 13.

I have nothing more than the usual “all right” to tell you, but you must always have that. We ought to congratulate each other on the good news from Roanoke Island and Tennessee, which quite thrilled us all yesterday. We were out at Will Winthrop’s camp when the boys cried the “Star” and the victory, and we heard the particulars first from Mrs. Captain Rodgers, who came here directly from Mrs. General McClellan’s. Mrs. McClellan described to her, her husband’s delight when the news came. He flung his arms over his head, and, fairly radiant with glee, pronounced himself the happiest man in Washington, “and the General, you know,” his wife says, “is such a quiet man usually. I have seldom seen him more excited.” . . .

We managed to get out to Will Winthrop’s camp yesterday without an upset, but (so Mother thought) at the peril of our lives! What will she say to the Virginia roads on the way to your camp? She is overwhelmed with pity for the poor men and officers. When we left, Will tramped some distance through the mud to show us a better way out, and we were immensely entertained at his manifesting his tongue in his cheek (behind Mother’s back) when he found the road worse than he thought, remarking, “Why! this is quite a godsend. I had no idea of finding such a good highway.”

. . . This morning George Carr has been out on horseback to take Will some cake and candy from Mother, to make up for a well meant but bad cake we took him when we went ourselves.

. . . We hear New York is overflowing with cheers and jubilees for the victories, and in Philadelphia the celebration was the best of all, for they took steps at once to raise a fund for the orphans of the soldiers killed in that battle and to found a “Soldiers’ Home” for all maimed and helpless volunteers when the war is over.