Woolsey family letters during the War for the Union

December 6th.

If Mr. Craney thought the bundle of hair was a feather-bed, he will certainly think that the stocking box, when it arrives, is the bedstead following on. . . . Let me describe its contents. In the first place, E’s cheque bought seven dozen and a half pairs of socks. . . . We have added as many more dozen as our own purchase, and friends sent in nearly two dozen knitted ones, so that the whole number is sixteen dozen. The pair of Mackinaw blankets looked like very heavy and handsome ones, from one of Robert’s parishioners. We added two pairs more of less expensive ones, and in the folds of one are a couple of little framed pictures, out of a lot Charley brought down to be sent, but I thought two were enough to run the risk of breakage. . . . Of woolen gloves there are five dozen—Jane’s purchase, etc., etc. . . . Lastly, after the box was all nailed up, came Dorus with a dozen of “country-knit socks” from the store in Friendsville, near where Annie Woolsey lives. We had the middle plank of the box taken off and stuffed them in. . . . It is unpardonable that Wrage’s men, or any men, should be badly off for socks. The dishonest quartermasters are a curse to our army and our cause. . . . Mother thinks the best part of all this is to be able to put the pillows yourselves under the sick men’s heads. What a scene your room must be with its boxes and bags! . . . We are amused to think that you admire the President’s message. . . . What do you think of his muddle about the slavery question? about Government taking slaves at so much a lump for taxes? expatriating a man from the soil he was born on and loves, because he is loyal to the government and of dark complexion.

Thursday Evening, December 5.

My dear Girls: This will be a little Sunday greeting to you, probably, as I write it merely to give you my love, and your address to Mr. Charles Johnson of Norwich. He is now here spending the evening, and, as usual, very entertaining. He leaves to-morrow for Washington. He goes to secure, if possible, a paymaster’s position in one of the Connecticut regiments, and has Governor Buckingham, Mr. Foster and others interested for him. Jane has told him that perhaps you can “pull the wires” for him in some quarters! I fear we are beginning to feel proud of you, as we hear your praises sounded in various quarters, and read paragraphs in the papers of your doings. At the wedding last night, Mrs. Colby told me all she had heard from your French widow nurse, who, it seems, has told her all about your visits to the hospital, etc., and what a “sunbeam” Georgy is, and how much comfort you have both been to her, and to all the other nurses. . . . The largest box yet, stands all nailed up and marked, ready for the express, in the front hall, and when Mr. Johnson said he was going on and would take anything for us, we told him we had a small parcel which he probably saw as he came in; the poor man looked aghast at the idea! . . . How very pleasant Mr. Hopkins is, but I think he must have been quizzing you in his very flattering remark about me. I do not like this in him. You poor, dear, little girls! I wish I could place a tray before you every day or two with something relishing. A large dish has come up to-night of jumbles, which I should like to empty on your table. . . . Charley has just come in from drill, with his new military overcoat, which is quite becoming. . . . Many kisses and lots of love.

November 28, Thanksgiving.

We have kept the day with J. in camp. He commissioned us to ask Mrs. Franklin to meet the General, unbeknown to him. So we sent the carriage for her by half-past eight, and started a little after nine, hoping to reach camp in time for service with the regiment. The roads were very bad, however, and we were too late. We stopped at the Brigade Hospital on the way, to leave oysters, jelly, oranges, etc., keeping some for the regimental “sick in quarters.” Our camp looked very neat and comfortable, tents all raised three or four feet on logs and clay, and nearly every one with a fire-place or stove. J. had arranged everything nicely for us, and his little fire and General Slocum’s were running races. General Franklin soon arrived, and we all sat round the firesides till dinner time. The dining-room was the Sibley tent, charmingly ornamented with evergreens, and the dinner was a great victory in its way; for out of the little tent-kitchen appeared successively, oyster soup, roast turkey, cranberry sauce, canvas-back ducks, vegetables, and a genuine and delicious plum pudding that would do justice to any New England housekeeper. Cake, pies and ice cream were also among the good things. The whole day was delightful, ending with a visit to General Franklin’s camp and the return to town with outriders.

New York, November, 1861.

Dear Girls: I went to the provisional Hospital here to see if the volunteers wanted anything. Mrs. Darragh took me all over, and said she wanted woolen shirts and socks very much. So I sent the requisition to the society and she will get all she wants there. . . . Mrs. D. also suggests slates for the men to scribble on, cypher on, do puzzles, etc.; thought they would be very nice, in which I agree. Perhaps the idea may be useful to you. . . . Do you remember Peck, the man all twisted with rheumatism? He is getting well, and is a great gourmand. They let him have anything he wants. While we were there he remarked sentimentally, “I say, send we some more of that roast pig, won’t you.” I shall adopt the New York volunteers to the mild extent of taking them some papers occasionally. . . . Mrs. Bennett, poor old soul, called yesterday to tell of the death of her son with typhoid dysentery in the camp, and, what with her grief and childish elation at having news to tell and being an object of sympathy, was most pathetically comic,— “dead and gone! dear, dead and gone! and this is his picter that he sent home to his mar,” was her greeting to everyone that came down stairs; “and I hope you’ll all be ready in time, my dears. It’s bad enough to be left by the cars, but worse not to be ready when you come to die.” Her great desire seemed to be to see and thank a drummer boy, who in the last few days of her son’s life walked a mile and a half every day to get him a canteen of spring water. He was consumed with thirst and could not drink the river water. . . . Do the surgeons know that you can have money at your disposal for delicacies, as well as clothes, etc.? Let them know it, if you have not, and spend, spend indefinitely. I say to myself often, “fifty or sixty thousand dollars would give quite a lift, why do I cumber the ground?” So if you don’t want to see me dead and the ducats in my coffin directed to the Sanitary Commission, say what I can do or send.

Nov. 18th.

Dear Eliza: Your most delightful letter has just been read aloud amid the cheers of the assembled family. What a splendid time you are having with your brigadiers and serenades. How I should like to sacrifice myself and join you in a few of your “noble” sprees, and become acquainted with some of your suffering generals. We, meantime, have been devoting ourselves, giving all our time and energy to the work of soothing and captivating a poor nervous soldier, Major Anderson. I suppose you heard that we started on our Christian enterprise the day after you left again for the same work. When we reached Tarrytown, the scene of our labors, we were received, as such heroines should be, with a great deal of state, and as we found a dinner-party of some twenty awaiting us we rushed up stairs to dress in our red silk and our mauve. . . . The whole regiment of us encamped in the house for the night and we had a jolly time.

On Wednesday, General Anderson, wife and son arrived. Mrs. A. is a great invalid and did not appear for the first two days, and when at last she was announced I looked to see a pale shadow glide in, and was astonished by the sight of a little, fat, plumpy woman with big bare arms and a good deal of jet jewelry; quite a talkative, frisky person. The General is lovely, quiet and gentlemanly and devoted to young ladies—a very important requisite in a hero. His health is very much shattered but his loyalty is unshaken. We were speaking of a lady who was engaged to a Southerner. “Break it off,” he said, “break it at once, he is a lunatic; I would as lief go into an insane asylum and argue with a man who calls himself Christ, as reason with a secessionist.” Mrs. Anderson said she never saw such a change as being up in Tarrytown made in her husband. In town he was worn out by callers and indifferent people who came to see the hero and ask him why he did not do this and that and the other at Sumter; and propound their own theories as to how he should have acted. . . . We told General Anderson you were in Washington doing what you could, etc., and he said “God bless them, it is a good work they are doing.” . . . We were sorry to come home on Tuesday, but had to, as I had invited the _______s and Mr. ______ to dinner. When we got home about an hour before dinner not a soul was here, Mother and Abby gone to Sing Sing for the day, Jane dodging a procession on Broadway, and one dish of chops ordered for dinner! We sent William out for jelly-cake, beef, etc., and with a spread of linen and glass, which fortunately was not in the closet of which Mother had the key, we set out quite a nice little table. . . . Cousin Mary Greene, Gardiner, and little Gardy arrived yesterday; the two last are still here. Gardy cuts into every conversation, asking innumerable and unanswerable questions: is now reading Ferdinand Second as pastime! aged ten.