June, 1861.
We are gradually growing accustomed to things that a few weeks ago would have appalled us, or which we should have received as horrid jokes–such, for instance, as Georgy’s training at the hospital. She comes home fagged-looking but determined to “stick it out.” Did you know, Carry, that Miss Bessie and Miss Mattie Parsons are walking the hospitals in Boston? Some of the ladies there fainted every day for a week, when Dr. Bigelow made them very mad by telling them “they had tried it long enough; they were unfit for it and must go home.” It will not surprise us if by and by Georgy starts for the wars. Nothing astonishes us nowadays; we are blasées in revolutions and topsy-turvyings; or, as Joe elegantly expresses it: “How many exciting things we have had this winter! First, parlor skates, and now, civil war!”
I am reminded to say that the best thing that Theodore Winthrop has ever done, after volunteering for this war, is to write an account of the eventful journey of the Seventh Regiment in “The Atlantic” for June. You will get it in England–Sampson and Low no doubt receive it. It is very bright –just sentimental enough–and has its value given it in the fact that his feelings went along with it in the writing and our feelings go with it in the reading. He describes the fraternization of the New York Seventh with the Massachusetts Eighth, and says they began to think that there was nothing the Eighth couldn’t do. All trades and professions were represented. The man that helped to build the locomotive, you know, stepped out of the ranks to repair it, at Annapolis; others sailed the good ship Constitution; others laid rails; others mended leaky canteens, as tinsmiths; and Theodore says he believes if the order had been given, “poets to the front!” or “sculptors! charge bayonets!” a baker’s dozen would have stepped from each company in answer to the summons.
Don’t let me forget to give you Charley’s message which is to countermand the purchase of his carriage blanket and to beg you to buy his gloves a trifle larger than the size he mentioned, as his hands have spread, as well as his appetite, since he began to drill.
Mr. Dayton, the new French minister, will have arrived in Paris before you leave, and perhaps Mr. Charles Francis Adams may be in London in time for you to see him. I hope Robert will see and consult one or both of them as to the state of things at home and the safety of taking passage in an American steamer. You can do nothing, of course, but take the best advice and then do what seems best to yourselves. The summer is going to be a broken one at any rate. We have given up our rooms in Conway. We cannot leave Eliza entirely alone, as she will be at Fish-kill. Joe has gone “for the war” if he lives and it lasts, and Eliza reverts to our love and protection. The summer will be harassed by skirmishes in Virginia–possibly a great battle may be fought if General Scott thinks we are ready. He is bothered more than anything by the haste of ignorant, injudicious men who think they are great military geniuses, and want to push the matter on. June is a great month for battles in the world’s history– we may add another to the catalogue – but it looks more as if the hard work, especially that in the far South and in the gulf, would be postponed till fall. A rebellion that has been thirty years in maturing isn’t going to be put down in a day.
We went on Sunday night to a grand meeting of the Bible Society where reports were read of the distribution of Testaments and Bibles to the volunteer troops. Twenty-three thousand have been given away, and many interesting anecdotes were told and most stirring addresses made by Professor Hitchcock and Dr. Tyng. They began in a very sober Sunday-night spirit, but before we got through there was the most rampant patriotism – stinging sarcasms about Jeff Davis; kissing of flags which draped the platform; storms of applause, and a great time generally. . . . You would not judge by the streets that we were at war. The shops are thronged by gay women making cheap purchases. Indeed, it seems difficult to pay more than two and sixpence a yard for a new dress– double width at that.