April, 1861.
My dear Cousin Margaret: I fancy that you may like to know how we have gone through the dreadful tumoil and excitement of the last few days, and so I send you an incoherent line tonight, though my wits are scarcely under command of my fingers.
The three great local incidents this week have been the arrival of Major Anderson, the leaving of the Seventh Regiment, and the great mass-meeting today in Union Square, or rather whose centre was Union Square, for the huge sea of men overflowed the quadrangle of streets where the speakers’ stands were, and surged down Broadway, up Broadway, through Fourteenth street and along Fourth avenue far beyond the Everett House. We were in a balcony at the corner of Union Square and Broadway and saw the concourse, though we could not distinguish the words of any speaker. We could only tell when the “ points” were made by the thousands of hats lifted and swung in the air and by the roar of the cheering. Every house fronting the square, and up and down the side streets, was decorated with flags and festoons, and the Sumter flag, on its splintered staff, hung over the stand where the gentlemen of the Sumter command were. The Puritan Church had a great banner afloat on its tower. Trinity set the example to the churches yesterday, when a magnificent flag was raised on its tall spire with a salvo of artillery. The sight was a grand one today, and in some of its features peculiar. As the tide rolled up under our balcony we could see scarcely a man who was not earnest-looking, grave, and resolved, and all seemed of the best classes, from well-dressed gentlemen down to hardworking, hard-fisted draymen and hod-carriers, but no lower. There was not a single intoxicated man as far as we could see, or a single one trying to make any disturbance or dissent. You will see by the reports of the meeting who were the officers, speakers, etc., and judge how all colors of opinion were represented and were unanimous. New York, at any rate, is all on one side now— all ready to forget lesser differences, like the household into which grief has entered. Almost every individual, man, woman and child, carried the sacred colors in some shape or other, and the ladies at the windows had knots of ribbon, tricolored bouquets, and flags without number. There was not a policemen to be seen from our outlook, though no doubt there were some about the square, but the crowd kept itself in order and perfect good nature, and whenever the flag appeared at the head of any procession or deputation it fell back instantly and respectfully to let it pass through. The resolutions, Committee for Patriotic Fund, etc., you will see in the papers.
I have given the first place to the meeting because it was the most recent, but yesterday was a more exciting and saddening day than this. Beside Meredith Howland, Captain Schuyler Hamilton, Howland Robbins and other friends and acquaintances in the “Seventh,” our two cousins Theodore and William Winthrop went. All these are privates except Merry, who is on the staff — Paymaster. The Winthrops came in their accoutrements at one o’clock to get their twenty-four hours’ rations (sandwiches which Georgy had been making all the morning), and we filled their cases and liquor flasks, with great satisfaction that we were able to do even such a little thing for them. We gave them a hearty “feed,” helped them stow their things with some economy of space, buckled their knapsack straps for them, and sent them off with as cheerful faces as we could command. They were in excellent spirits, on the surface at any rate, and promised to come back again in glory in a little while. We in our turn promised to go down to them if they needed us. Poor fellows! It was heart-sickening to think of any such necessity. Then we went down to a balcony near Prince street, in Broadway, and saw them off. The whole street was densely crowded, as today, and the shops and houses decorated—only there were three miles of flags and people. After long waiting we began to see in the distance the glimmer of the bayonets. Then the immense throng divided and pressed back upon the sidewalks, and the regiment came,—first the Captain of Police with one aid, then the Artillery corps, then company after company, in solid march, with fixed faces, many of them so familiar, so pleasant, and now almost sacred. The greeting of the people was a thing to see! The cheers were almost like a cannonade. People were leaning forward, shouting, waving handkerchiefs, crying, praying aloud, and one block took up the voice from the other and continued the long, long cry of sympathy and blessing through the entire route. Some friends of the soldiers who marched all the way with them to the Jersey cars, said the voice never ceased, never diminished, till they reached the end of that first triumphal stage of their journey. It was a triumph though a farewell. At Ball and Black’s Major Anderson was in the balcony with Cousin John’s and Cousin William Aspinwall’s families, and each company halted and cheered him as it passed. Except for this, they looked neither right nor left, but marched as if at that moment they were marching into the thick of battle. They were not long in passing, and the crowd closed in upon them like a parted sea. We watched the bayonets as far and long as we could see them, and the last we saw was a late warm beam of sunshine touching the colors as they disappeared.
Great anxiety is felt tonight about their arrival in Washington and what they may meet there. Many gentlemen here think the forces in the District quite inadequate and blame anybody and everybody for not hurrying on more troops. A gentleman was here late this afternoon looking for Cousin William Aspinwall. They were hunting him up everywhere where there was any chance of his being found, to make instant arrangements for steam vessels to take reinforcements tomorrow. Several regiments are ready, only waiting orders and means of transit. Uncle Edward came to the meeting today—very grave indeed—and I don’t doubt very efficient and open-handed, as usual, in anything that needed his help. He has ordered a great flag for the “barrack.” Joe has set one flying from his house-top. He (J. H.) has joined a cavalry company in Fishkill who are drilling for a Home Guard or a “reserve.” Charley has joined a similar company (foot) in town. He is uneasy and wants to “do something.” Uncle Edward says: “Stay at home, my boy, till you’re wanted, and if the worst comes to the worst I’ll shoulder a musket myself!”
Major Anderson was the hero of Cousin Anna’s party last night. Only Charley represented us; we didn’t feel “up to it.” C. said it was a very handsome party, as usual with their entertainments, and that a portrait of Major Anderson was hung in the picture gallery, wreathed with laurel, and all the “Baltic’s” flags decorated the hall and supper room. Thirty of the expected guests had marched at four o’clock with the Seventh. Major Anderson is very grave, almost sad, in expression and manner, as a man may well be who has been through such scenes and looks with a wise eye into such a future; but if anything could cheer a man’s soul it would be such enthusiasm and almost love as are lavished on him here. He says “they had not had a biscuit to divide among them for nearly two days, and were almost suffocated.” They say he talks very little about it all; only gives facts in a few modest words. He is “overwhelmed” with the sight of the enthusiasm and unanimity of the North; “the South has no idea of it at all.” He says that he “felt very much aggrieved at being attacked at such disadvantage;” that “for four weeks he only received one message from government, and was almost broken down with suspense, anxiety, and ignorance of what was required of him.” He went to all the stands today at the mass-meeting, and was received with a fury of enthusiasm everywhere. Yesterday he was obliged to leave the balcony at Ball and Black’s, the excitement and applause were so overpowering; and he goes about with tears in his eyes all the time.
Mrs. Gardiner Howland is very anxious and sad about Merry in the Seventh. She says she is “no Spartan mother.” Mary G. G. has sent to Kate Howland withdrawing her invitations for her bridesmaids’ dinner on Tuesday. She is not in spirits to give it.[1] Two regiments start tonight instead of tomorrow to go by rail to Philadelphia and thence by steamboats, outside. There are the gravest fears that they may be too late. . . . I have been writing while the others have gone to the Philharmonic concert. They have come back and had a splendid scene at the close — singing of the Star-Spangled Banner, solo, and chorus by the Lierderkranz and the whole huge audience, standing, to the hundred stringed and wind instruments of the orchestra, while a great silken banner was slowly unrolled from the ceiling to the floor. Then followed rounds of vociferous applause, and three times three for everything good, especially for Major Anderson, and the Seventh.
The Massachusetts contingent passed through on Thursday, and then we got the news of the cowardly assault in Baltimore.[2] The poor fellows tasted war very soon. Tonight the city is full of drum-beating, noise and shouting, and they are crying horrible extras, full of malicious falsehoods (we hope). G. G., we hear, is going from home to his Mother’s and back again, all the evening, contradicting them. There should be authentic news by this time of the progress of the Seventh, but people will not believe these horrible rumors, and refuse to believe anything.
There is the most extraordinary mixture of feeling with everyone— so much resistless enthusiasm and yet so much sadness for the very cause that brings it out. It seems certainly like a miracle, this fresh and universal inspiration of patriotism surmounting the sorrow, like a fire kindled by God’s own hand from his own altar—and this alone ought to inspire us with hope of the future.
[1] Kate Howland was married April 2, 1861, to Richard Morris Hunt.
[2] The Sixth Massachusetts, crossing Baltimore to the Washington depot, were set upon by a furious mob of roughs and pelted with stones and brickbats. Two soldiers were killed and eight wounded, and the troops forming in solid square with fixed bayonets at last forced their way through the crowds.
