Tuesday, April 23, midday
My eyes were still burning from lack of sleep, but we’d done it.
Somehow Nell and Charlie and I had set the type and printed the Act and gotten twenty-five copies to the county clerk first thing Monday morning—just in time to collect the money I needed to pay Mr. Shuttersworth his $65. I was even able to give Charlie $6 to take with him soldiering.
While I’d spent most of the weekend at the Herald office, Ma’d been busy at the store, helping families to provision their men for the journey, and giving Pa numerous last hugs in preparation for his departure. Her eyes were swollen and red, but so were those of most women, and a few men, in town.
Reverend Merrill began the morning with a special church service to honor those departing to serve our country. He’d even composed a special patriotic hymn which the choir sang in their honor. Then the eighty-nine men (not quite the one hundred Edwin Smith had hoped for) who’d enlisted marched down the Village Green from the church onto Main Street. The entire town lined the block, waving flags and cheering for their family, friends, and neighbors.
Nell and Ma and I stood together near the corner of Water Street, where we could see everything. Right at the corner of Long Bridge and Water Street, Reverend Merrill said another prayer for the soldiers, and Captain Tucker declaimed some fine words about patriotism. I can’t remember just what was said, since most folks were crying, including many of the new soldiers themselves.
Some soldiers were as young as Charlie, and a few were in their forties, but most men were in their twenties and thirties, leaving sweethearts or wives and young children behind. As they marched over the Long Bridge to Edgecomb, the whole town followed them. On the Edgecomb side they were met by the Newcastle town band, which led everyone in a new assortment of hymns and patriotic songs before leading the soldiers up the hill toward Newcastle, their next destination. It would take several days for them to reach their first training ground at Rockland.
As we walked back across the bridge, Ma comforted a young woman whose husband had just left. Nell and I walked together, neither of us saying much.
We’d just gotten back to Main Street when Owen hobbled up on his new crutches. “News! I have news!” he shouted.
“What news?” I asked, trying to smile through the sadness of the day.
“I knew you were busy, so I checked with Miss Averill at the telegraph office,” said Owen. “Remember that regiment from Massachusetts that left for Washington last week—the Sixth Massachusetts?”
I remembered. The Massachusetts regiment that had managed to get organized so quickly, ahead of all the other New England regiments.
“They were on their way to Washington—they took a train to Baltimore—but when they started marching south from there, they were attacked by people on the side of the South. Four soldiers and a dozen people in Baltimore were killed. They’re the first to die in action in the war, and on the anniversary of Lexington and Concord, too.” Owen took a deep breath.
“That’s awful, Owen,” I said.
“That’s not all,” he added. “The first man killed a citizen of my color, Nicholas Biddle. Sumner Needham, a soldier from Norway, Maine, was killed too.” He looked at me. “Can we put all that in the newspaper, Joe?”
“Yes, we can, Owen,” I said, and I put my arm around his shoulders. “The soldiers have gone, but we on the home front still have a job to do.”
Owen and Nell and I headed for the Herald office. We needed to print a special edition.