Woolsey family letters during the War for the Union

Lenox, September.

My dear Girls: Abby, as usual, is writing away vigorously, and I am very sure her letters to you are better far than mine would be, therefore I always give place to her; but do not think me indifferent to you or to any little circumstance whatever connected with you in the most remote way, for I assure you every word relating to Washington has a deeper interest than I can express to you, and in all my reading of news I turn with indifference from other parts of the country and items of other regiments, to seek eagerly for some word of those immediately about Alexandria and Washington, and we look with more desire than ever for your letters. The “expected attack” dwells upon our minds and hearts, and our sympathies and fears are all alive. When will the end come? In God’s own time, and we must only wait in patience and faith, looking to God for strength to help us in this time of need. . . . Ask counsel of some of your wise friends in Washington as to the prudence of your remaining for the present there. Do you not think in case of an attack upon the city you would be better elsewhere? I scarcely know where either, south of Philadelphia. Had you not better take the chance, before communication is cut off, of coming north? I should fear your being in Baltimore more than staying in Washington. I hope you will call on Mrs. McClellan and her mother, if the latter is with her. I knew them both, you recollect, in North Conway, and I would like you to make their acquaintance. You might consult with your familiar, General Scott, as to the propriety and safety of your being in Washington in case of an attack. What a nice thing for you to have dined so socially with the General. It will come in as a pleasing little incident in that history which I hope you are writing for coming generations.

Ebbitt House, Sept. 5.

I hope you are not entirely without starch this damp, sticky day, and that you have kept “Manassas”[1] busy all the morning bringing wood for the fire. Since my note we have had the confirmation of Jeff. Davis’ death, reported yesterday. If he is really gone, I suppose we mustn’t abuse him, but the fate is much too good for him.

We won’t go down to camp again till we hear from you, as you ask, but meantime I am anxious to know what your plans and prospects are, and what the order to be “ready for instant action” meant. . . .

We had a charming dinner with General Scott yesterday, and shall value the remembrance of it all our lives. We are the only ladies except Mrs. Thomas Davies whom he has entertained at his table during the war. We ought to feel highly honored, and we do. There were only the three aides present, and it was all very social and pleasant, but they didn’t tell any state secrets. The General looked very well indeed, but showed his feebleness when he attempted to leave his chair. He spoke in high praise of the hams, which we suppose to be the humble cause of the politeness to us, and toasted the “absent Adjutant” in a bumper of sherry.

Georgeanna takes exceptions to the word “charming” in connection with that dinner, and perfectly recalls it as a fearful joy, where none of the aides dared speak unless spoken to, and she and Eliza hardly then. Jane Stuart Woolsey, however, writing from Lenox and rising to the occasion, said: “Georgy’s letter received last night with its gorgeous item of your dinner at General Scott’s was very interesting. You are lucky to be so honored above all other women, and will consequently be able to brag to your posterity to the third and fourth generation of them that hate you.”

[1] A “contraband of war” freed by the 16th N. Y.

Headquarters of the Army, Washington.

Dear Mrs. Howland: The Lieutenant General desires me to send his thanks for the hams sent to him by Mr. Howland. He considers them very fine indeed, to which opinion I beg leave to add my own.

Yours very truly,

H. Van Rensselaer.

Mary Woolsey Howland:

Astoria, Sept., ‘61.

Dear Abby: Sarah and I have been all the morning arranging flowers. . . . Our roses are most luxuriant this year, and just now we have outside the front door two large orange trees from the greenhouse which are one mass of blossom and perfume the whole place. We have been quite on the qui vive yesterday and to-day at the expected arrival of the Great Eastern at Port Morris which is that cluster of buildings, you may remember, next to Casina dock, on the opposite side of the river. The vessel comes consigned to Howland & Aspinwall. The English agents sent them word at the last minute that she would come in by the Sound, so we have been constantly on the look-out. It would be very pleasant to have her lying in sight of the windows for some days. On Saturday we had a fine view of the imperial yacht which passed up the river with royalty on board, and looked beautifully with its gold prow and the gold line running round the sides. Sarah particularly enjoys the river, bathes every day in a highly ornamental costume brought for the purpose, and floats round on the surface like a cork. We have had some charming sails too, and indeed divide our time about equally between the water and the carriage, with occasional short digressions among the rose bushes. Tell Carry that Mr Stagg spent Saturday evening with us, and brought up the package of handkerchiefs which he promised her. They are a dozen of large, fine, colored-bordered ones, very much in the style of those I brought Ned from Paris, and such as I should not at all object to crib for private use. He must have intended them in case of a cold-in-the-head of the War Dept., they are on such a grand scale. However, I thanked him on behalf of the national nose, and will take charge of them for Carry.

“The children are my delight all day, especially Bertha, whose little flower of a face tempts me to continual kisses. Dear little puss, she grows sweeter every day. Una, too, develops continually powers and talents undreamed of. She has learned to say ‘R-r-ra,’ which means Hurrah! and she says it with great enthusiasm whenever a steamer passes full of troops and we all rush out to the bank to wave our handkerchiefs to them,—the children held up by Ann and Maria, and solemnly gesturing with their little hands, and May waving one flag and the gardener’s boy another. The group is so very patriotic that we are generally saluted by cheers from the boats.”

Astoria, Monday, Sept. 2nd.

Dear Georgy: Your interesting letter was highly appreciated by little May, as well as by her parents, who thought it very kind of you to elaborate so nice a little story out of the materials. May’s artistic efforts were revived by it and all her inspirations lately breathe of camp life and army movements. I enclose the last one, “Recollections of what I saw on Riker’s Island when passing in the boat,” which is really not bad for a fancy sketch. You would have been amused to hear her reading the newspapers aloud to little Bertha the other day. I was writing at the time and took down verbatim one sentence. “We are sorry to state that General Brigade, a contraband of war, was taken prisoner last night at Fort Schuyler: he was on his way to visit the navy-yard at Bulls Run and was brought home dead and very severely wounded.”

The children and nurses have just driven off with a carriage full of little pails and spades to spend the afternoon digging in the sand at Bowery Bay. You know the bliss, especially if the tide admits of rolling up their pantalettes and wading in. We are having lovely weather, which I wish you were sharing. Indeed, I am greatly disappointed that you will not come on while things are comparatively quiet and stay awhile with us. Robert and I have had some delicious sails in the boat, for which I have taken a great liking, and we are having a quiet but delightful summer. To-day the Astoria flags are out in great numbers for our naval capture; a little victory which is refreshing after so many defeats. Abby and Cousin William are very blue up in Lenox and write desponding notes in the Toots style. The Micawber mood will probably follow, in which Abby will be “inscribing her name with a rusty nail” on the walls of some southern dungeon. Indeed I begin to think she must be in the confidence of the rebel leaders, from the entire assurance with which she looks for an attack by sea upon some northern port, while the land army meantime marches triumphantly to Washington.

We are looking for Sarah Woolsey this week to make a little visit, and were in hopes that Rose Terry, who was with her, would come too.

I sent your two letters to Mother, who will enjoy them as much as May did. When you write again tell us more about Joe,—how he is looking after the summer’s campaign, how he really is, etc. It seems strange to think that autumn is already here and the dreaded hot weather for the troops nearly over, I suppose. If we can get anything for you in New York while the girls are away, or do any of the things for which you have depended upon them, be sure to let me know. . . . I wonder if a season will ever come when for once we can all spend it together without the need of ink and paper. Some large, generally satisfactory Utopian farmhouse, where, as in Pomfret days, one vehicle and one horse (alas, poor beast!) and Mother to drive, would be ample accommodation and style for all. Give our love and a God-speed to Joe when you see him next, and insist upon his taking good care of himself when out of your sight.

Affectionately yours,

Mary.

“Dr. Asch begs to inform Miss Woolsey that he has seen the officer in charge of the passes into Virginia. It will be impossible to procure them this evening as the office closes at 3 p. m., and in addition it will be necessary for the nurses to present themselves at General Porter’s office for the purpose of making affirmation as to their loyalty,—when, on presenting the accompanying note, Dr. Asch trusts that there will be no delay in the accomplishment of their object.”

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Surg.-General’s Office, Aug. 27, 1861.

Dr. Wood has requested Dr. Spencer to attend to the wishes of Miss Woolsey (in regard to the ambulances).

He very much regrets he is prevented from attending personally.