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European revolutions and wars, surround the State department, and
infest unsuspecting politicians with illegible testimonials in unknown
tongues.
August 5th.—The roads from the station are crowded with troops,
coming from the North as fast as the railway can carry them. It is
evident, as the war fever spreads, that such politicians as Mr.
Crittenden, who resist the extreme violence of the Republican party,
will be stricken down. The Confiscation Bill, for the emancipation of
slaves and the absorption of property belonging to rebels, has,
indeed, been boldly resisted in the House of Representatives; but it
passed with some trifling amendments. The journals are still busy
with the affair of Bull Run, and each seems anxious to eclipse the
other in the absurdity of its statements. A Philadelphia journal, for
instance, states to-day that the real cause of the disaster was not a
desire to retreat, but a mania to advance. In its own words, “the only
drawback was the impetuous feeling to go a-head and fight.”
Because one officer is accused of drunkenness a great movement is
on foot to prevent the army getting any drink at all.
General M‘Clellan invited the newspaper correspondents in
Washington to meet him to-day, and with their assent drew up a
treaty of peace and amity, which is a curiosity in its way. In the first
place, the editors are to abstain from printing anything which can
give aid or comfort to the enemy, and their correspondents are to
observe equal caution; in return for which complaisance,
Government is to be asked to give the press opportunities for
obtaining and transmitting intelligence suitable for publication,
particularly touching engagements with the enemy. The Confederate
privateer Sumter has forced the blockade at New Orleans, and has
already been heard of destroying a number of Union vessels.
August 6th.—Prince Napoleon, anxious to visit the battle-field at
Bull Run, has, to Mr. Seward’s discomfiture, applied for passes, and
arrangements are being made to escort him as far as the
Confederate lines. This is a recognition of the Confederates, as a
belligerent power, which is by no means agreeable to the authorities.
I drove down to the Senate, where the proceedings were very
uninteresting, although Congress was on the eve of adjournment,
and returning visited Mr. Seward, Mr. Bates, Mr. Cameron, Mr. Blair,
and left cards for Mr. Brekinridge. The old woman who opened the
door at the house where the latter lodged said, “Massa Brekinridge
pack up all his boxes; I s’pose he not cum back here again.”
August 7th.—In the evening I went to Mr. Seward’s, who gave a
reception in honour of Prince Napoleon. The Minister’s rooms were
crowded and intensely hot. Lord Lyons and most of the diplomatic
circle were present. The Prince wore his Order of the Bath, and bore
the onslaughts of politicians, male and female, with much good
humour. The contrast between the uniforms of the officers of the
United States army and navy and those of the French in the Prince’s
suit, by no means redounded to the credit of the military tailoring of
the Americans. The Prince, to whom I was presented by Mr. Seward,
asked me particularly about the roads from Alexandria to Fairfax
Court-house, and from there to Centreville and Manassas. I told him
I had not got quite as far as the latter place, at which he laughed. He
inquired with much interest about General Beauregard, whether he
spoke good French, if he seemed a man of capacity, or was the
creation of an accident and of circumstances. He has been to Mount
Vernon, and is struck with the air of neglect around the place. Two of
his horses dropped dead from the heat on the journey, and the
Prince, who was perspiring profusely in the crowded room, asked me
whether the climate was not as bad as midsummer in India. His
manner was perfectly easy, but he gave no encouragement to bores,
nor did he court popularity by unusual affability, and he moved off
long before the guests were tired of looking at him. On returning to
my rooms a German gentleman named Bing—who went out with the
Federal army from Washington, was taken prisoner at Bull’s Run,
and carried to Richmond—came to visit me, but his account of what
he saw in the dark and mysterious South was not lucid or interesting.
August 8th.—I had arranged to go with Mr. Olmsted and Mr.
Ritchie to visit the hospitals, but the heat was so intolerable, we
abandoned the idea till the afternoon, when we drove across the
long bridge and proceeded to Alexandria. The town, which is now
fully occupied by military, and is abandoned by the respectable
inhabitants, has an air, owing to the absence of women and children,
which tells the tale of a hostile occupation. In a large building, which
had once been a school, the wounded of Bull Run were lying, not
uncomfortably packed, nor unskilfully cared for, and the
arrangements were, taken altogether, creditable to the skill and
humanity of the surgeons. Close at hand was the church in which
George Washington was wont in latter days to pray, when he drove
over from Mount Vernon—further on, Marshal House, where
Ellsworth was shot by the Virginian landlord, and was so speedily
avenged. A strange strain of thought was suggested, by the rapid
grouping of incongruous ideas, arising out of the proximity of these
scenes. As one of my friends said, “I wonder what Washington would
do if he were here now—and how he would act if he were
summoned from that church to Marshall House or to this hospital?”
The man who uttered these words was not either of my companions,
but wore the shoulder-straps of a Union officer. “Stranger still,” said I,
“would it be to speculate on the thoughts and actions of Napoleon in
this crisis, if he were to wake up and see a Prince of his blood
escorted by Federal soldiers to the spot where the troops of the
Southern States had inflicted on them a signal defeat, in a land
where the nephew who now sits on the throne of France has been
an exile.” It is not quite certain that many Americans understand who
Prince Napoleon is, for one of the troopers belonging to the escort
which took him out from Alexandria declared positively he had ridden
with the Emperor. The excursion is swallowed, but not well-digested.
In Washington the only news to-night is, that a small privateer from
Charleston, mistaking the St. Lawrence for a merchant vessel, fired
into her and was at once sent to Mr. Davy Jones by a rattling
broadside. Congress having adjourned, there is but little to render
Washington less uninteresting than it must be in its normal state.
The truculent and overbearing spirit which arises from the
uncontroverted action of democratic majorities develops itself in the
North, where they have taken to burning newspaper offices and
destroying all the property belonging to the proprietors and editors.
These actions are a strange commentary on Mr. Seward’s
declaration “that no volunteers are to be refused because they do
not speak English, inasmuch as the contest for the Union is a battle
of the free men of the world for the institutions of self-government.”
August 11th.—On the old Indian principle, I rode out this morning
very early, and was rewarded by a breath of cold, fresh air, and by
the sight, of some very disorderly regiments just turning out to
parade in the camps; but I was not particularly gratified by being
mistaken for Prince Napoleon by some Irish recruits, who shouted
out, “Bonaparte for ever,” and gradually subsided into requests for
“something to drink your Royal Highness’s health with.” As I returned
I saw on the steps of General Mansfield’s quarters, a tall, soldierly-
looking young man, whose breast was covered with Crimean ribbons
and medals, and I recognised him as one who had called upon me a
few days before, renewing our slight acquaintance before
Sebastopol, where his courage was conspicuous, to ask me for
information respecting the mode of obtaining a commission in the
Federal army.
Towards mid-day an ebony sheet of clouds swept over the city. I
went out, regardless of the threatening storm, to avail myself of the
coolness to make a few visits; but soon a violent wind arose bearing
clouds like those of an Indian dust-storm down the streets. The black
sheet overhead became agitated like the sea, and tossed about grey
clouds, which careered against each other and burst into lightning;
then suddenly, without other warning, down came the rain—a perfect
tornado; sheets of water flooding the streets in a moment, turning the
bed into water-courses and the channels into deep rivers. I waded
up the centre of Pennsylvania Avenue, past the President’s house, in
a current which would have made a respectable trout stream; and on
getting opposite my own door, made a rush for the porch, but
forgetting the deep channel at the side, stepped into a rivulet which
was literally above my hips, and I was carried off my legs, till I
succeeded in catching the kerbstone, and escaped into the hall as if
I had just swum across the Potomac.
On returning from my ride next morning, I took up the Baltimore
paper, and saw a paragraph announcing the death of an English
officer at the station; it was the poor fellow whom I saw sitting at
General Mansfield’s steps yesterday. The consul was absent on a
short tour rendered necessary by the failure of his health consequent
on the discharge of his duties. Finding the Legation were anxious to
see due care taken of the poor fellow’s remains, I left for Baltimore at
a quarter to three o’clock, and proceeded to inquire into the
circumstances connected with his death. He had been struck down
at the station by some cerebral attack, brought on by the heat and
excitement; had been carried to the police station and placed upon a
bench, from which he had fallen with his head downwards, and was
found in that position, with life quite extinct, by a casual visitor. My
astonishment may be conceived when I learned that not only had the
Coroner’s inquest sat and returned its verdict, but that the man had
absolutely been buried the same morning, and so my mission was
over, and I could only report what had occurred to Washington. Little
value indeed has human life in this new world, to which the old gives
vital power so lavishly, that it is regarded as almost worthless. I have
seen more “fuss” made over an old woman killed by a cab in London
than there is over half a dozen deaths with suspicion of murder
attached in New Orleans or New York.
I remained in Baltimore a few days, and had an opportunity of
knowing the feelings of some of the leading men in the place. It may
be described in one word—intense hatred of New England and black
republicans, which has been increased to mania by the stringent
measures of the military dictator of the American Warsaw, the
searches of private houses, domiciliary visits, arbitrary arrests, the
suppression of adverse journals, the overthrow of the corporate body
—all the acts, in fact, which constitute the machinery and the
grievances of a tyranny. When I spoke of the brutal indifference of
the police to the poor officer previously mentioned, the Baltimoreans
told me the constables appointed by the Federal general were
scoundrels who led the Plug Uglies in former days—the worst
characters in a city not sweet or savoury in repute—but that the old
police were men of very different description. The Maryland Club,
where I had spent some pleasant hours, was now like a secret
tribunal or the haunt of conspirators. The police entered it a few days
ago, searched every room, took up the flooring, and even turned up
the coals in the kitchen and the wine in the cellar. Such indignities
fired the blood of the members, who are, with one exception,
opposed to the attempt to coerce the South by the sword. Not one of
them but could tell of some outrage perpetrated on himself or on
some members of his family by the police and Federal authority.
Many a delator amici was suspected but not convicted. Men sat
moodily reading the papers with knitted brows, or whispering in
corners, taking each other apart, and glancing suspiciously at their
fellows.
There is a peculiar stamp about the Baltimore men which
distinguishes them from most Americans—a style of dress,
frankness of manner, and a general appearance assimilating them
closely to the upper classes of Englishmen. They are fond of sport
and travel, exclusive and high-spirited, and the iron rule of the
Yankee is the more intolerable because they dare not resent it, and
are unable to shake it off.
I returned to Washington on 15th August. Nothing changed;
skirmishes along the front; M‘Clellan reviewing. The loss of General
Lyon, who was killed in an action with the Confederates under Ben
McCullough, at Wilson’s Creek, Springfield, Missouri, in which the
Unionists were with difficulty extricated by General Sigel from a very
dangerous position, after the death of their leader, is severely felt. He
was one of the very few officers who combined military skill and
personal bravery with political sagacity and moral firmness. The
President has issued his proclamation for a day of fast and prayer,
which, say the Baltimoreans, is a sign that the Yankees are in a bad
way, as they would never think of praying or fasting if their cause
was prospering. The stories which have been so sedulously spread,
and which never will be quite discredited, of the barbarity and cruelty
of the Confederates to all the wounded, ought to be set at rest by the
printed statement of the eleven Union surgeons just released, who
have come back from Richmond, where they were sent after their
capture on the field of Bull Run, with the most distinct testimony that
the Confederates treated their prisoners with humanity. Who are the
miscreants who tried to make the evil feeling, quite strong enough as
it is, perfectly fiendish, by asserting the rebels burned the wounded
in hospitals, and bayoneted them as they lay helpless on the field?
The pecuniary difficulties of the Government have been alleviated
by the bankers of New York, Philadelphia, and Boston, who have
agreed to lend them fifty millions of dollars, on condition that they
receive the Treasury notes which Mr. Chase is about to issue. As we
read the papers and hear the news, it is difficult to believe that the
foundations of society are not melting away in the heat of this
conflict. Thus, a Federal judge, named Garrison, who has issued his
writ of habeas corpus for certain prisoners in Fort Lafayette, being
quietly snuffed out by the commandant, Colonel Burke, desires to
lead an army against the fort and have a little civil war of his own in
New York. He applies to the commander of the county militia, who
informs Garrison he can’t get into the fort as there was no artillery
strong enough to breach the walls, and that it would require 10,000
men to invest it, whereas only 1400 militiamen were available. What
a farceur Judge Garrison must be! In addition to the gutting and
burning of newspaper offices, and the exercitation of the editors on
rails, the republican grand juries have taken to indicting the
democratic journals, and Fremont’s provost marshal in St. Louis has,
proprio motu, suppressed those which he considers disaffected. A
mutiny which broke out in the Scotch Regiment 79th N. Y. has been
followed by another in the 2nd Maine Regiment, and a display of
cannon and of cavalry was required to induce them to allow the
ringleaders to be arrested. The President was greatly alarmed, but
M‘Clellan acted with some vigour, and the refractory volunteers are
to be sent off to a pleasant station called the “Dry Tortugas” to work
on the fortifications.
Mr. Seward, with whom I dined and spent the evening on 16th
August, has been much reassured and comforted by the
demonstrations of readiness on the part of the people to continue the
contest, and of confidence in the cause among the moneyed men of
the great cities. “All we want is time to develop our strength. We
have been blamed for not making greater use of our navy and
extending it at once. It was our first duty to provide for the safety of
our capital. Besides, a man will generally pay little attention to
agencies he does not understand. None of us knew anything about a
navy. I doubt if the President ever saw anything more formidable
than a river steamboat, and I don’t think Mr. Welles, the Secretary of
the Navy, knew the stem from the stern of a ship. Of the whole
Cabinet, I am the only member who ever was fairly at sea or crossed
the Atlantic. Some of us never even saw it. No wonder we did not
understand the necessity for creating a navy at once. Soon,
however, our Government will be able to dispose of a respectable
marine, and when our army is ready to move, co-operating with the
fleet, the days of the rebellion are numbered.”
“When will that be, Mr. Secretary?”
“Soon; very soon, I hope. We can, however, bear delays. The
rebels will be ruined by it.”
CHAPTER XVII.