Letters to America

by Tom Blair

  At first I thought America was like Ireland and that Americans were like the Irish. But after time I saw it wasn’t so. Not a big difference but a difference. People in America moved faster. Not like running, but like there was a rush to get somewhere important. Or like there was a need to hurry up and finish what they started. And even when they were rushing about they seemed happy. Americans smiled more than Irishmen. And something else about folks in America was different. In Ireland people talked about what they did. In America they talked about what they would do. After a while I figured out that was why they hurried about smiling. They were rushing to do something they wanted to do.

  By the second year with the Mulcahys I was getting a letter every three months or so from Rose. If more than three months passed without a letter I fretted that Rose maybe met someone that she cared for more than me. But the more I fretted the happier I was when Missus Mulcahy came down with my dinner plate and a letter from Rose. I smiled for the next month, probably smiled when I was sleeping. And even those nights when my bones wanted to sleep, after an extra hard day of Mister Mulcahy’s pounding, in the darkness of the cellar I would lay awake and think of Rose. And for most certain I would think about the kiss. How she took my hands in hers and squeezed them tight. How she moved close to me so that our bodies touched. How her face touched mine with her warm breath on my cheek. And how sweet Rose kissed me for such a long moment.

  It was the second year in America that Michael got a new job in Worcester, a job making piano wire. Being a dumb Irish lad I didn’t know pianos had wire. Took the job ’cause it paid more. Made me think that if I could get another job with better pay I could maybe save Rose’s passage fare quicker. So after work I walked around looking in shops, hoping to find a shopkeeper needing to hire a fella. I knew my numbers and after two years of schooling by Missus Mulcahy I could read as good as most and I wrote so that my thoughts were pretty much clear. It wasn’t just my brain that got bigger, when I first got to Mulcahy’s a strong breeze could have pushed me over, couldn’t lift most of the boxes stored in the root cellar, had to drag them up the steep steps. After eating more than good for a time I got some meat on my bones so’s I could hoist the heaviest box on my shoulder and be off.

  Boston for sure didn’t have good jobs for the Irish. The Know Nothing Party was running the city. Argued loud that the Irish were hurting real Americans, said we stole jobs and our Pope wanted to take over the country. Most stores had No Irish Need Apply signs. Jobs building railroads and digging canals had two pay rates. One rate for Irish and a higher one for everyone else. I even saw parades with banners that said that real Americans didn’t come on a boat they were born in America. Wondered if the Indians had the same parades.

  The letters from Rose got longer. I kept them in an old tea box Missus Mulcahy gave me. Just about every night I read one or two. ’Course I knew the words pretty much by memory. But I would just stare at the writing. I would study the curves of the letters that made the words. Rose’s T’s, M’s, O’s, and S’s were beautiful. I’d imagine Rose writing the letters, holding the pen in her small, perfect hand. I knew that when she was writing them she was only thinking of me. I’d imagine where she was sitting when she wrote each letter. I saw her at a small table next to her bed. The table was in front of a window. Sundays she wrote with the sunlight shining in. Other times I imagined her writing at night, seated wearing a nightcap and robe. A lantern was on a small writing desk. As her hand moved with the writing the shadows across her bed followed. Someday we would be together. Until then I had the kiss.

  Then the letter that made my heart grin. Rose wrote that she had left the convent. She had to either take her final vows or leave. She could leave because the famine was over and the farms were growing potatoes and workers were needed. And there weren’t many workers after the Great Hunger. Rose found a job as a laundress at a grand manor house. She wrote that the lady of the house was most kind and she would be content there until she could join me. My heart jumped. Yes, she was still going to join me. That is what her letter said. I read and read her letter till the corners turned up.

  A most busy livery by the wharf was run by Mister Clancey. I said hello to him since his name was the same as my mother’s family, but he wasn’t from Connaught. When I told him about me saving for Rose and what I was paid he told me his brother needed a good fellow. I went to see him at his saloon on Charter Street. Mister Clancey wanted someone to keep the place clean and move in the full kegs and get rid of the empties, offered me sixty cents a week. Thought about it. I didn’t want the job. Real mean-looking customers at the Clancey Saloon. But I did want the sixty cents, it was almost twice as much as Mister Mulcahy paid. When I told Mister Mulcahy I was taking a new job he looked pained and then he looked angry. Told me I wasn’t grateful. Then he did something real surprising. Told me I could have sixty cents a week if I stayed. I did. Then something even stranger happened. The next night when Missus Mulcahy brought down my dinner plate she gave me five dollars. Told me it was a gift from her and her husband. Told me that I should buy new pants and two shirts. Also said to make certain not to thank her husband.

  Wouldn’t you know that after a while Mister Mulcahy gave me more chores. He had me paint the outside of the shop and sand and stain the floor. Had me to do this work after my supper meal. Told me for sixty cents a week I needed to work harder or his two children would starve. Said this with his stomach pushed over his belt. After he said the word starve my heart hurt for Meaghan and Paul. Mister Mulcahy didn’t know nothing about starving.

  It was by reading the newspaper that I learned about presidents. I liked that America had presidents and not queens and kings. I learned that every four years all the men in America got to say who they wanted to be president. I read that both Douglas and Lincoln wanted to be president. In a loud voice Mister Mulcahy said that Douglas should be America’s president. Missus Mulcahy said her thoughts didn’t matter. No one asked me who I wanted to be president. I didn’t care because I didn’t know. Lincoln had more men say they wanted him so he got to be president.

  It was after Lincoln was elected president that Michael came to see me with news. Wonderful news that I couldn’t believe. We both could be rich. We could get paid to join the Union Army. The army of President Lincoln. When he told me how much I would be paid to join I knew he was wrong. Told me I would get 350 dollars. In the Work House when Michael told me his brother was sending forty pounds I knew it couldn’t be. But it was. So I listened.

  Michael said men were paying Irishmen to serve in their place in the Union Army. He already signed up for Mister Brainard, a fellow married to the daughter of a rich man in Hartford. Michael had his 350 dollars. He told me that I could get 350 dollars for serving in the Union Army. For taking someone else’s place I would be made a king. I could own a farm with 100 acres and a farmhouse with glass windows and a stone fireplace. A farm for Rose and me to raise children.

  When I told Mister Mulcahy he said that I was a fool to join the Union Army. Said that slaves weren’t my bother and I shouldn’t get my head shot off for something I knew nothing about. But he was wrong. I did know. I knew because of something I read in one of the papers Missus Mulcahy laid on the counter. A British man by the name of Freeman wrote that the best thing for slavery would be to allow every Irishman in America to kill a slave and then hang the Irishman for murder. If the British who starved us thought slaves should be killed, President Lincoln must be right to free them. And I thought it strange a man named Freeman wanted slaves murdered.

  A week after I told Michael I would join up he was back with papers for me to sign. First time I ever signed my full name. Special neat I tried to make it. Two weeks later a smiling Michael was back with my money. I couldn’t believe it. In my whole life I didn’t think I could have so much money. Ten years before I could have bought food for a thousand starving Irishmen. Michael told me where I would be mustered in. First he had to tell me what mustered in meant. I was joining
the 12th Infantry in Hartford, a three or four day walk away.

  Told Mister Mulcahy that I was leaving on the first day of August, he turned red in the face and shouted at me. Shouted even though I was standing close enough to smell his tobacco breath. Said I would get my head shot off and I was the dumbest of the dumb Irish. Never spoke another word to me. A few days later an Irish boy named Tadd came to work at the shop. He said that Mister Mulcahy told him that I should teach him everything he should know. I did, for certain I told him of the Clancey Saloon. Told him in a year to see about getting a job there. Told him he could maybe get a raise from Mister Mulcahy if he did.

  I was twisted tight worried about Rose. She said she would come to America. But Rose never said she would marry me. ’Course, I never asked her. Scared I was to ask. Scared what she might say to a lad with patched britches. When I told Missus Mulcahy about my worry she said it was silliness. Told me to write Rose a letter telling her how much I wanted to marry her and have children. I did. But it took a long time. Kept thinking of what to say. Finally wrote it all down. I told her right off that I wanted to marry her and have children. Told her that I had money for a farm and that if she came to America and changed her mind about marrying me she could have the money and buy a farm for herself.

  A few days before I left for the army Missus Mulcahy took me to the Shawmut Bank on State Street to open an account in the name of Rose. I didn’t feel real right about somebody holding most all my money, but Missus Mulcahy told me it was safe. I put in 240 dollars. I had sent 100 dollars with Michael’s uncle to give to Rose for her passage. Kept ten dollars for me. Missus Mulcahy promised that she would look after Rose when she got to Boston. After supper that night I went to a shop that sold watches and pretty pins for ladies. For two dollars I bought Missus Mulcahy a silver-colored pin with a real jewel that was red. When I gave it to her she told me it was the most special pin she had ever seen. Wore it every day before I left for Worcester to meet Michael. Most certain I wished I could have bought my mother a pin.

  My trek to Worcester was only two days because the blue-sky weather was smiling on the Irish. Thought of my walk to the Work House so long ago. Thought of the starving children along the path. Thought of the baby at her dead mother’s breast.

  Michael had a fine room with a window in the attic of Mister Washburn’s most grand home. He was the owner of the piano wire factory. I stayed with Michael till it was time for us to be mustered in. It was a full day of walking to Hartford, went straight away to a place called Campfield. There were sixty or so of us being mustered into the 12th Connecticut Infantry. When I asked why Connecticut Michael told me Hartford was not in Massachusetts. All but two of the fellas joining up were Irish.

  The first few days it rained and then rained some more. So there we sat in our tents. Sat there talking mostly about what we were going to do with our mustered-in money. By the second week the sun showed its yellow face and two wagons pulled up loaded heavy with uniforms. I was given the best clothes I had ever seen. A heavy dark-blue coat with metal buttons and boots that weren’t worn through. First new boots I had ever owned. But I guess President Lincoln owned them.

  We had a captain who acted like our warden at the Work House. Told us what to do and yelled at us. But mostly he stayed in his tent. Then a sergeant joined us. The captain told the sergeant what to tell us. The captain never spoke to us again. I liked the sergeant. He cursed us when we were learning to march. But he cursed in a friendly way, not a mean way, like the wardens in the Work House.

  It was the second or maybe the third month that was the best. We got Springfield muzzle-loading rifles. I had never held anything so beautiful. It was almost as long as I was tall. The stock was sanded and stained. The barrel was blue-gray and smooth. I smiled when I looked at it standing in the corner of my tent. I never imagined such a magnificent thing would be trusted to me.

  Most every day we practiced with the Springfield. I can still remember. Pull out paper cartridge. Grasp between thumb and finger. Rip open with teeth. Pour powder into barrel. Insert ball. Ram ball down with rod. Place rod in holding tube. Half-cock hammer. Pull off old cap. Put new cap on nipple. Fully cock. Aim and fire.

  Shooting someone I could imagine doing. At a far distance it’s not a person, it was just a shape. But there was one thing I couldn’t do. No way could I. Each Springfield came with a bayonet. It slid over the end of the barrel and stuck out more than a foot. It made the rifle a big pole with a long knife on the end. Taught we were to lunge at rebel soldiers and stick the bayonet in their chest. Told that when we advanced we should stick any wounded rebel we saw laying on the ground. Stick them even if they were wounded real bad. I just didn’t think I could kill someone up close with pain in his face.

  A couple of days before we were to march off to war Tadd found me at the camp. Tadd was the Irish boy that Mister Mulcahy hired to do my work. Had a letter from Rose with him. Missus Mulcahy wanted to make certain I got it so she sent Tadd without asking Mister Mulcahy. It was the first letter from Rose since I wrote her about being my wife. The letter I wrote telling her that if she came to America she could have my farm money whether she married me or not.

  Quick-like I stole off to my tent. I sat alone on my cot. My stomach churned. Fearful like I opened the letter. It was two sheets of white paper. Each sheet was folded two times. I read each word slowly. I started to shake. Then I read the sentence. Thank you, sweet Jesus! Rose said she wanted to marry me. She wrote the farm money didn’t matter. Rose said she would marry me no matter what money I had saved. It was the best happy moment of my life. After three years of hoping that Rose loved me I knew she must.

  It was a cold and rainy October day when we marched off to war. The head man of the state came to see us off. Governor Buckingham was what they called him. He rode in a coach and we marched behind. We marched down State Street stepping in horse shit from the governor’s carriage. We were marching to the boat that would take us to Washington.

  The truth was that even if I was marching to war in a cold rain, stepping in mud and horse shit, I was a happy lad. Let me tell you why I was a happy Irish nobody marching to war. I was doing something for Rose and me. And even if Mister Mulcahy was right and I did get my head shot clean off Rose would be in America. Rose would be in America with enough money for a happy life. Enough money to make her and her family happy. So, you see, no matter if I got killed it was a good bargain I struck for Rose.

  And another thing, even if I did get my head shot off, I still had the kiss.

  Patrick

  Abigail

  Unlike many wars, the Revolutionary War was not one nation defending itself against a foreign aggressor. Rather, it was Englishman against Englishman. The American Colonies were founded and populated by those that were both citizens of England and subjects of a monarch.

  Beginning in 1765 tensions between the British Government and the thirteen American Colonies began to boil. A most divisive issue was the Stamp Act and the Tea Act, which levied taxes on Colonial commerce. Colonists, who had no meaningful say in their governance, took to their bosom the chant, “No taxation without representation.”

  June 17 of 1775 marked the first major hostility between Colonists and the British; heavy casualties were inflicted on a British regiment at Breed’s Hill (which became known as the Battle of Bunker Hill). But the first victory was not a harbinger for a quick Colonial victory … defeat of the British was seven years distant.

  While many Colonists, referred to as Patriots, supported the Revolution, many did not; these individuals were considered to be Loyalists, reflecting their continued loyalty to the Crown … to the King.

  The British Army was well-trained, well-equipped, and paid. The Continental Army fighting for independence was composed of volunteers. The weapons of most soldiers were their hunting rifles, and their pay was most often no more than meager rations.

  A decision for a shop owner or farmer to join the Continental Army and fight for independ
ence was of the heaviest consequence. Families were left behind to fend for themselves; wives took on the burdens of the husband. Pay was nonexistent for months, shelter was often that which the individual Patriot constructed, no consideration was paid to the family of a soldier who fell in battle, and the British promised hanging for those traitors who took up arms against the King … welcome to Abigail’s struggles as the wife of a Patriot.

  1776: At night it is always the worst. During the day I am busy—too busy to think and worry. Always moving. But at night, in the dark, lying on the cot, the wind through the trees and the rattling panes of glass become a chanting crowd of my problems. So many chores, so many tasks, too many things to do. With daybreak the problems do not take their leave, rather they sleep peacefully while I toil. They rest so they will be fresh to attack my constitution yet again under the cover of darkness.

  The above is from a journal where I recorded my thoughts while Charles was at war. I intended to make an entry most days. I did not. By the end of many days there was no energy, only despair.

  My name is Abigail, Abigail Johnson, once married to my dearest Charles. Before my wedding day I lived with my father, mother, and sister. Father was a gentleman farmer. His ways were of hard work and an acknowledgment of God’s blessings. Mother taught my sister and me domestics, by the glow of candles Father read to us from his great books. As a child and young girl a content life wrapped my family. When I married such would be my life, so I believed.

  Charles and I wed in the spring of 1771. I was seventeen, he twenty-five. We met on a crisp October Sunday after a rigid sermon of redemption by Reverend Tripwell. Charles, the previous summer, had purchased a small portion of land west of town from Mr. Dear. Even though I met Charles as a woman full grown, I had been praying for him for many years. As a young girl I lay in bed knowing that somewhere my husband-to-be was also resting. Each night I prayed to God that he be kept safe until we met. I knew we would, and we did.