July 22, 1861.
My dear Girls: Since Mother’s letter was sent this morning we have had some heavy hours. At noon we got the first extra with the despatch announcing the defeat and retreat of our troops—defeat, because retreat, or vice versa, whichever it was. It is a total rout of our grand army of the Union. All guns gone, etc.; but the saddest is the vast number of wounded and half dead. I have no doubt your hands are full, at some one of the hospitals. Hour after hour to-day went on and we heard nothing from you; had nothing but the horrible extras and our consciousness of your anxiety and suspense. We packed the trunk for you very busily and tried not to think too hard. At five p. m. your despatch came, dear E., and such a load was removed from our hearts. Joe not only was safe, but you had seen him. Thank Heaven! We could hardly make out from the confused papers what his position had been in the fight. . . .
Mary and Robert drove in at six to hear what we had heard, and met Ned at the Ferry, carrying out your despatch. Robert brought his valise in case Mother wanted him to escort her to Washington, but the immediate anxiety she felt for you having been relieved, she feels it is safest to wait till she gets a letter from you. So many troops will probably encumber the roads on the way to Washington to-morrow, and there is so much chance of a riot in Baltimore, as Robert suggests—that it is more prudent to wait. She wants to go for her own satisfaction as well as yours you know, so you must not think it desirable for you to oppose it. If she could only have been with you these two horrible days she would have been so glad. She is anxious to do something for the army and thinks she ought to go on and be matron in the Alexandria Hospital. We laugh, and remind her of her fortitude when Dr. Buck tried to vaccinate her! . . . And now for the boxes. Mrs. Willard Parker is ready to make the largest grants. Has packed one box to-day, and is anxious to have it go to you that she may know what disposition is made of the things. Let us know when you receive them—one French black trunk, one wooden packing box. Mrs. Parker has a huge box packed, but I shall advise that one going to the Sanitary Commission. Your box has six dozen sheets in it from her, and the trunk is filled with our shirts, slippers, etc.
In haste and with all love,
A. H. W.
P. S. Also one box of currant jelly. All will be directed to the Ebbitt House, except Mrs. Parker’s box.
Thread and needles are invaluable in camp. We hear that after every march bits of uniforms fly all over the camp, and that one man patched his black shoulder with a sky-blue scrap begged from a brother volunteer. You know the men haven’t always a sixpence to spare for the sutler every time a button is needed, and our two hundred thread cases will go very little way in a regiment. . . . Everybody is knitting yarn socks for the men—all the young girls and all the old women. Everybody means to make one pair each before winter. Cousin Margaret Hodge has set all her old ladies at work at the Asylum. We have set up four to-night for ourselves, and Kate and Mary the cook are to have their turn too.. . . But the deed of Mrs. Lowell of Boston, sister-in-law of the poet, puts all others to insignificance. She being a lady of means and leisure, took the Government contract for woolen shirts in Massachusetts and is having them cut and made under her own eyes by poor women at good prices, and the sum that would have gone into some wretched contractor’s pocket has already blessed hundreds of needy women.
