Longwood, near Boston,
April and May and June,
1861.
. . . Isn't the news from Sumter delightful. When I read the
account in a paper, I felt like crying for joy. No one sympathizes with me
here, except Grandmama, and I feel like a stranger in a foreign land.
Everybody here is groaning, and deploring the taking of Sumter. Uncle B. says that
Boston was the scene of great excitement to-day, all the military were getting
ready and everyone is on the lookout for war in earnest. . . .
I went into Boston to-day and you never saw such confusion;
the State House steps and grounds were crowded with men, some to see, and some
to volunteer.
Grandmama had a letter from Mama, written in the midst of
the firing of the guns at Sumter. One of Uncle B.'s last puns (you know how
fond he is of making them) was the following. “What does the man who robs and
catches the Governor of South Carolina get? Poor Pickings.” (Governor Pickens.)
I have just returned from seeing a company of Zouaves drill, their manoeuvres
were miserable (!) and if this is a specimen of Northern chivalry, I don't
think we have much to fear. Everybody here knows who we are, and whenever I go
out the people stare and gaze at us. This evening I found little Fanny
surrounded by girls, who were questioning and teasing her. She seemed to be
perfectly able to maintain her position, and she said, “she gave them as good
as they sent;” they all seemed quite amused at her answers, and said they liked
to hear her; she talked so “funny.” One of the girls soon after came up to
where I stood and said she thought the girls “hadn't ought to tease Fanny.”
This is one of their common expressions, and another is that they “admire” to
take a walk, or play on the piano. Grandmama and I went into Boston the other
day and to my joy I saw a photo of President Davis in one of the windows. I
immediately purchased it. The Babcocks are coming to take tea with us this
evening, and I anticipate a good deal of pleasure in seeing Emma. She is lovely
as ever and I am sure you would like her. We are fast friends and I made her
promise she would read Mr. Davis's message, and as a reward I shall give her a
very small piece of the flag staff you sent me. She is a very sensible girl and
in all our discussions we never get the least excited or vexed. “Abe Lincoln!”
is her hero, and “Jeff Davis” is mine; but there is one thing she never can
explain, namely, “Abe’s” flight through Baltimore! But we agree in
almost everything else. She thinks Napoleon the greatest man that ever lived,
and so do I, and that is a never failing source of conversation.
Mrs. Lincoln is now in Boston, and I suppose the Republicans
are all flocking to see her, and she is asking them “How they flourish?” Boston
is in a whirl of excitement; troops drilling and volunteering all the time — the
stores and houses all decked with flags. . . . Dear Papa, won't you send us
each a small flag of South Carolina, and the Confederate States? I am very
anxious to see them. Yesterday evening Aunt F. got an invitation to attend a
meeting of ladies to make shirts, and sew for the different regiments; she, of
course, is not going. A poor set of creatures they must be if they can't
furnish their own shirts! . . . Uncle B.
has just bought the Sun announcing the secession of Virginia. I feel as
if I can't contain myself I am so glad. Poor Uncle B. looks as if he had taken
a blue pill — he takes everything so to heart; it is deplorable to see him.
Aunt F. is in hopes that all the States will now follow and that will be the
means of securing peace.
SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in
’61, p. 57-60
