From Mother
8 Brevoort Place, Friday Morning.
My dear Girls and Charley.—All your notes and letters are of thrilling interest to us now, and though we think it very kind of you to take a minute even for us, in the midst of all that is going on around you, we are craving enough to cry for more, more. I was a little disappointed not to see you, Charley, by the Daniel Webster, but I am not surprised at your staying behind. . . I meant to have given more time to my pen for you, but spent all day yesterday at the Park Barracks, nailing blue cambric over wooden clothes-horses for screens around the men’s beds, a very tiresome job, and I came home used up, and went to bed at once. This morning I feel all right again. My quiet three months in Washington and a drive out, instead of a dragging walk every day, has spoiled me for the distracting noise and cares of New York, or else I have grown old and feeble! I want very much to slip into Jane’s place at the hospitals if she will let me, for she is breaking herself down. It is not half so pleasant here in these places as it was in Washington or Alexandria, as you could go in there amongst the soldiers and talk with them, and give them, yourselves, the clean handkerchiefs, all cologned! and the books and papers, etc., but here you are not allowed to do this; can only be admitted to the committee room by ticket. . . . This system is carried to a hateful excess. . . . The greatest quantity of goods and food and drink and every thing you can imagine is constantly being sent in—people send them here (to No.8), too. Our front entry is literally ?lled up now with immense bundles and packages of shirts, drawers, stockings, shoes, everything. One item is one dozen boxes of cologne from your Uncle E. . . . Abby has bought out several industrial societies in shirts and drawers. Charley, I saw one poor soldier walking off yesterday with what I instantly recognized as one of your old shirts I had given to Mrs. Buck. She said he was so proud of his plaited bosom! They prefer old ?ne ones to new cotton without bosoms or stiff wristbands. And they all ask for neckties to wear home, so I am going out this morning to buy a great lot of them. . . . Carry is writing to you, dear Charley, and Abby is scratching away to some of you. Pico and Mac are yelping and ravenous for breakfast. . . . DO come up for a run one of these days, but not to take turns in night-watches on board with the sick, in a crowded cabin. I want you to have a little rest and some fresh air. . . . Did Charley ?nd the gimlets and corkscrew? I stuffed such little things in where I could ?nd room, for his stateroom. I should judge he had not much room to hang a coat from the looks of his den on the transport when I saw it. With ever so much love to you all, and the earnest wish that you would send for me,—I want to go down exceedingly—
Your Loving Mother.