University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER LI.

July 22d.—I awoke from a deep sleep this morning, about
six o'clock. The rain was falling in torrents and beat with a
dull, thudding sound on the leads outside my window; but,
louder than all, came a strange sound, as if of the tread of
men, a confused tramp and splashing, and a murmuring of
voices. I got up and ran to the front room, the windows of
which looked on the street, and there, to my intense surprise,
I saw a steady stream of men covered with mud, soaked
through with rain, who were pouring irregularly, without any
semblance of order, up Pennsylvania Avenue towards the
Capitol. A dense stream of vapor rose from the multitude;
but looking closely at the men, I perceived they belonged to
different regiments, New Yorkers, Michiganders, Rhode Islanders,
Massachusetters, Minnesotians, mingled pellmell together.
Many of them were without knapsacks, crossbelts,
and firelocks. Some had neither great-coats nor shoes, others
were covered with blankets. Hastily putting on my clothes,
I ran down-stairs and asked an "officer," who was passing by,
a pale young man, who looked exhausted to death, and who
had lost his sword, for the empty sheath dangled at his side,
where the men were coming from. "Where from? Well,
sir, I guess we're all coming out of Verginny as fast as we can,
and pretty well whipped too." "What! the whole army,
sir?" "That's more than I know. They may stay that like.
I know I'm going home. I've had enough of fighting to last
my lifetime."

The news seemed incredible. But there, before my eyes, were
the jaded, dispirited, broken remnants of regiments passing onwards
where and for what I knew not, and it was evident enough

that the mass of the grand army of the Potomac was placing
that river between it and the enemy as rapidly as possible.
"Is there any pursuit?" I asked of several men. Some were
too surly to reply; others said, "They're coming as fast as
they can after us." Others, "I guess they've stopped it now
—the rain is too much for them." A few said they did not
know, and looked as if they did not care. And here came
one of these small crises in which a special correspondent
would give a good deal for the least portion of duality in mind
or body. A few sheets of blotted paper and writing materials
lying on the table beside the burnt-out candles, reminded me
that the imperious post-day was running on. "The mail for
Europe, viâ Boston, closes at one o'clock, Monday, July 22d,"
stuck up in large characters, warned me I had not a moment
to lose. I knew the event would be of the utmost interest in
England, and that it would be important to tell the truth as
far as I knew it, leaving the American papers to state their
own case, that the public might form their own conclusions.

But then, I felt, how interesting it would be to ride out and
watch the evacuation of the sacred soil of Virginia, to see
what the enemy were doing, to examine the situation of affairs,
to hear what the men said, and, above all, find out the cause
of this retreat and headlong confusion, investigate the extent
of the Federal losses and the condition of the wounded; in
fact, to find materials for a dozen of letters. I would fain,
too, have seen General Scott, and heard his opinions, and
have visited the leading senators, to get a notion of the way
in which they looked on this catastrophe.—"I do perceive
here a divided duty." But the more I reflected on the matter
the more strongly I became convinced that it would not
be advisable to postpone the letter, and that the events of the
21st ought to have precedence of those of the 22d, and so I
stuck up my usual notice on the door outside of "Mr. Russell
is out," and resumed my letter.

Whilst the rain fell, the tramp, of feet went steadily on.
As I lifted my eyes now and then from the paper, I saw the
beaten, foot-sore, spongy-looking soldiers, officers, and all the
debris of the army filing through mud and rain, and forming
in crowds in front of the spirit stores. Underneath my room
is the magazine of Jost, negociant en vins, and he drives a
roaring trade this morning, interrupted occasionally by loud
disputes as to the score. When the lad came in with my
breakfast he seemed a degree or two lighter in color than

usual. "What's the matter with you?" "I 'spects, Massa,
the Seceshers soon be in here. I'm a free nigger; I must go,
sar, afore de come cotch me." It is rather pleasant to be
neutral under such circumstances.

I speedily satisfied myself I could not finish my letter in
time for post, and I therefore sent for my respectable Englishman
to go direct to Boston by the train which leaves this at
four o'clock, to-morrow morning, so as to catch the mail steamer
on Wednesday, and telegraphed to the agents there to inform
them of my intention of doing so. Visitors came knocking
at the door, and insisted on getting in—military friends who
wanted to give me their versions of the battle—the attachés
of legations and others who desired to hear the news and have
a little gossip; but I turned a deaf ear doorwards, and they
went off into the outer rain again.

More draggled, more muddy, and downhearted, and foot-weary
and vapid, the great army of the Potomac still straggled
by. Towards evening I seized my hat and made off to
the stable to inquire how the poor horse was. There he stood,
nearly as fresh as ever, a little tucked up in the ribs, but
eating heartily, and perfectly sound. A change had come
over Mr. Wroe's dream of horseflesh. "They'll be going
cheap now," thought he, and so he said aloud, "If you'd like
to buy that horse, I'd let you have him a little under what I
said Dear! dear! it must 'a' been a sight sure-ly to see them
Yankees running; you can scarce get through the Avenue
with them."

And what Mr. W. says is quite true. The rain has abated
a little, and the pavements are densely packed with men in
uniform, some with, others without arms, on whom the shopkeepers
are looking with evident alarm. They seem to be in
possession of all the spirit-houses. Now and then shots are
heard down the street or in the distance, and cries and shouting,
as if a scuffle or a difficulty were occurring. Willard's is
turned into a barrack for officers, and presents such a scene
in the hall as could only be witnessed in a city occupied by a
demoralized army. There is no provost guard, no patrol, no
authority visible in the streets. General Scott is quite overwhelmed
by the affair, and is unable to stir. General McDowell
has not yet arrived. The Secretary of War knows not
what to do, Mr. Lincoln is equally helpless, and Mr. Seward,
who retains some calmness, is, notwithstanding his military
rank and military experience, without resource or expedient.

There are a good many troops hanging on about the camps
and forts on the other side of the river, it is said; but they
are thoroughly disorganized, and will run away if the enemy
comes in sight without a shot, and then the capital must fall
at once. Why Beauregard does not come I know not, nor
can I well guess. I have been expecting every hour since
noon to hear his cannon. Here is a golden opportunity. If
the Confederates do not grasp that which will never come
again on such terms, it stamps them with mediocrity.

The morning papers are quite ignorant of the defeat, or
affect to be unaware of it, and declare yesterday's battle to
have been in favor of the Federals generally, the least arrogant
stating that McDowell will resume his march from Centreville
immediately. The evening papers, however, seem to
be more sensible of the real nature of the crisis: it is scarcely
within the reach of any amount of impertinence or audacious
assertion to deny what is passing before their very eyes. The
grand army of the Potomac is in the streets of Washington,
instead of being on its way to Richmond. One paper contains
a statement which would make me uneasy about myself if I
had any confidence in these stories, for it is asserted "that
Mr. Russell was last seen in the thick of the fight, and has
not yet returned. Fears are entertained for his safety."

Towards dark the rain moderated and the noise in the
streets waxed louder; all kinds of rumors respecting the advance
of the enemy, the annihilation of Federal regiments,
the tremendous losses on both sides, charges of cavalry, stormings
of great intrenchments and stupendous masked batteries,
and elaborate reports of unparalleled feats of personal valor,
were circulated under the genial influence of excitement, and
by the quantities of alcohol necessary to keep out the influence
of the external moisture. I did not hear one expression of
confidence, or see one cheerful face in all that vast crowd
which but a few days before constituted an army, and was
now nothing better than a semi-armed mob. I could see no
cannon returning, and to my inquiries after them, I got generally
the answer, "I suppose the Seceshers have got hold of
them."

Whilst I was at table several gentlemen who have entrée
called on me, who confirmed my impressions respecting the
magnitude of the disaster that is so rapidly developing its proportions.
They agree in describing the army as disorganized.
Washington is rendered almost untenable, in consequence of

the conduct of the army, which was not only to have defended
it, but to have captured the rival capital. Some of my visitors
declared it was dangerous to move abroad in the streets.
Many think the contest is now over; but the gentlemen of
Washington have Southern sympathies, and I, on the contrary,
am persuaded this prick in the great Northern balloon
will let out a quantity of poisonous gas, and rouse the people
to a sense of the nature of the conflict on which they have
entered. The inmates of the White House are in a state of
the utmost trepidation, and Mr. Lincoln, who sat in the telegraph
operator's room with General Scott and Mr. Seward,
listening to the despatches as they arrived from the scene of
action, left it in despair when the fatal words tripped from the
needle and the defeat was already revealed to him.

Having finally cleared my room of visitors and locked the
door, I sat down once more to my desk, and continued my
narrative. The night wore on, and the tumult still reigned in
the city. Once, indeed, if not twice, my attention was aroused
by sounds like distant cannon and outbursts of musketry, but
on reflection I was satisfied the Confederate General would
never be rash enough to attack the place by night, and that,
after all the rain which had fallen, he in all probability would
give horses and men a day's rest, marching them through the
night, so as to appear before the city in the course of to-morrow.
Again and again I was interrupted by soldiers clamoring
for drink and for money, attracted by the light in my
windows; one or two irrepressible and irresistible friends
actually succeeded in making their way into my room—just
as on the night when I was engaged in writing an account of
the last attack on the Redan my hut was stormed by visitors,
and much of my letter was penned under the apprehension of
a sharp pair of spurs fixed in the heels of a jolly little adjutant,
who, overcome by fatigue and rum-and-water, fell asleep
in my chair, with his legs cocked up on my writing-table—
but I saw the last of them about midnight, and so continued
writing till the morning light began to steal through the casement.
Then came the trusty messenger, and, at three, A. M.,
when I had handed him the parcel and looked round to see
all my things were in readiness, lest a rapid toilet might be
necessary in the morning, with a sigh of relief I plunged into
bed, and slept.

July 23d.—The morning was far advanced when I awoke,
and hearing the roll of wagons in the street, I at first imagined

the Federals were actually about to abandon Washington
itself; but on going to the window, I perceived it arose from
an irregular train of commissariat carts, country wagons, ambulances,
and sutlers' vans, in the centre of the street, the
paths being crowded as before with soldiers, or rather with
men in uniform, many of whom seemed as if they had been
rolling in the mud. Poor General Mansfield was running
back and forwards between his quarters and the War Department,
and in the afternoon some efforts were made to restore
order, by appointing rendezvous to which the fragments of
regiments should repair, and by organizing mounted patrols
to clear the streets. In the middle of the day I went out
through the streets, and walked down to the Long Bridge with
the intention of crossing, but it was literally blocked up from
end to end with a mass of wagons and ambulances full of
wounded men, whose cries of pain echoed above the shouts of
the drivers, so that I abandoned the attempt to get across,
which, indeed, would not have been easy with any comfort,
owing to the depth of mud in the roads. To-day the aspect
of Washington is more unseemly and disgraceful, if that were
possible, than yesterday afternoon.

As I returned towards my lodgings a scene of greater disorder
and violence than usual attracted my attention. A
body of Confederate prisoners, marching two and two, were
with difficulty saved by their guard from the murderous assaults
of a hooting rabble, composed of civilians and men
dressed like soldiers, who hurled all kinds of missiles they
could lay their hands upon over the heads of the guard at
their victims, spattering them with mud and filthy language.
It was very gratifying to see the way in which the dastardly
mob dispersed at the appearance of a squad of mounted men,
who charged them boldly, and escorted the prisoners to General
Mansfield. They consisted of a picket or grand guard,
which, unaware of the retreat of their regiment from Fairfax,
marched into the Federal lines before the battle. Their just
indignation was audible enough. One of them, afterwards,
told General McDowell, who hurried over as soon as he was
made aware of the disgraceful outrages to which they had
been exposed, "I would have died a hundred deaths before I
fell into these wretches' hands, if I had known this. Set me
free for five minutes, and let any two, or four, of them insult
me when my hands are loose."

Soon afterwards a report flew about that a crowd of soldiers

were hanging a Secessionist. A senator rushed to General
McDowell, and told him that he had seen the man swinging
with his own eyes. Off went the General, ventre à terre, and
was considerably relieved by finding that they were hanging
merely a dummy or effigy of Jeff Davis, not having succeeded
in getting at the original yesterday.

Poor McDowell has been swiftly punished for his defeat, or
rather for the unhappy termination to his advance. As soon
as the disaster was ascertained beyond doubt, the President
telegraphed to General McClellan to come and take command
of his army. It is a commentary full of instruction on the
military system of the Americans, that they have not a soldier
who has ever handled a brigade in the field fit for service in
the North.

The new commander-in-chief is a brevet-major who has
been in civil employ on a railway for several years. He
went once, with two other West Point officers, commissioned
by Mr. Jefferson Davis, then Secretary of War, to examine
and report on the operations in the Crimea, who were judiciously
despatched when the war was over, and I used to see
him and his companions poking about the ruins of the deserted
trenches and batteries, mounted on horses furnished by
the courtesy of British officers, just as they lived in English
quarters, when they were snubbed and refused an audience
by the Duke of Malakhoff in the French camp. Major
McClellan forgot the affront, did not even mention it, and
showed his Christian spirit by praising the allies, and damning
John Bull with very faint applause, seasoned with lofty
censure. He was very young, however, at the time, and is so
well spoken of that his appointment will be popular; but all
that he has done to gain such reputation and to earn the confidence
of the government, is to have had some skirmishes
with bands of Confederates in Western Virginia, in which the
leader, Garnett, was killed, his "forces" routed, and finally, to
the number of a thousand, obliged to surrender as prisoners of
war. That success, however, at such a time is quite enough
to elevate any man to the highest command. McClellan is
about thirty-six years of age, was educated at West Point,
where he was junior to McDowell, and a class-fellow of Beauregard.

I dined with M. Mercier, the French Minister, who has a
prettily situated house on the heights of Georgetown, about a
mile and a half from the city. Lord Lyons, Mr. Monson, his

private secretary, M. Baroche, son of the French Minister,
who has been exploiting the Southern States, were the only
additions to the family circle. The minister is a man in the
prime of life, of more than moderate ability, with a rapid
manner and quickness of apprehension. Ever since I first
met M. Mercier he has expressed his conviction that the North
never can succeed in conquering the South, or even restoring
the Union, and that an attempt to do either by armed force
must end in disaster. He is the more confirmed in his opinions
by the result of Sunday's battle, but the inactivity of the
Confederates gives rise to the belief that they suffered seriously
in the affair. M. Baroche has arrived at the conviction, without
reference to the fate of the Federals in their march to
Richmond, that the Union is utterly gone—as dead as the
Achaian League.

Whilst Madame Mercier and her friends are conversing on
much more agreeable subjects, the men hold a tobacco council
under the shade of the magnificent trees, and France, Russia,
and minor powers talk politics, Lord Lyons alone not joining
in the nicotian controversy. Beneath us flowed the Potomac,
and on the wooded heights at the other side, the Federal flag
rose over Fort Corcoran and Arlington House, from which the
grand army had set forth a few days ago to crush rebellion and
destroy its chiefs. There, sad, anxious, and despairing, Mr.
Lincoln and Mr. Seward were at that very moment passing
through the wreck of the army, which, silent as ruin itself,
took no notice of their presence.

It had been rumored that the Confederates were advancing,
and the President and the Foreign Minister set out in a
carriage to see with their own eyes the state of the troops.
What they beheld filled them with despair. The plateau was
covered with the men of different regiments, driven by the
patrols out of the city, or arrested in their flight at the bridges.
In Fort Corcoran the men were in utter disorder, threatening
to murder the officer of regulars who was essaying to get them
into some state of efficiency to meet the advancing enemy.
He had menaced one of the officers of the 69th with death for
flat disobedience to orders; the men had taken the part of
their captain; and the President drove into the work just in
time to witness the confusion. The soldiers with loud cries
demanded that the officer should be punished, and the President
asked him why he had used such violent language towards
his subordinate. "I told him, Mr. President, that if he

refused to obey my orders I would shoot him on the spot; and
I here repeat it, sir, that if I remain in command here, and
he or any other man refuses to obey my orders, I'll shoot him
on the spot."

The firmness of Sherman's language and demeanor in presence
of the chief of the State overawed the mutineers, and
they proceeded to put the work in some kind of order to resist
the enemy.

Mr. Seward was deeply impressed by the scene, and retired
with the President to consult as to the best course to pursue,
in some dejection, but they were rather comforted by the telegrams
from all parts of the North, which proved that, though
disappointed and surprised, the people were not disheartened
or ready to relinquish the contest.

The accounts of the battle in the principal journals are curiously
inaccurate and absurd. The writers have now recovered
themselves. At first they yielded to the pressure of facts and
to the accounts of their correspondents. They admitted the
repulse, the losses, the disastrous retreat, the loss of guns, in
strange contrast to their prophecies and wondrous hyperboles
about the hyperbolic grand army. Now they set themselves
to stem the current they have made. Let any one read the
New York journals for the last week, if he wishes to frame an
indictment against such journalism as the people delight to
honor in America.

July 24th.—I rode out before breakfast in company with
Mr. Monson across the Long Bridge over to the Arlington
House. General McDowell was seated at a table under a tree
in front of his tent, and got out his plans and maps to explain
the scheme of battle.

Cast down from his high estate, placed as a subordinate to
his junior, covered with obloquy and abuse, the American
General displayed a calm self-possession and perfect amiability
which could only proceed from a philosophic temperament and
a consciousness that he would outlive the calumnies of his
countrymen. He accused nobody; but it was not difficult to
perceive he had been sacrificed to the vanity, self-seeking, and
disobedience of some of his officers, and to radical vices in the
composition of his army.

When McDowell found he could not turn the enemy's
right as he intended, because the country by the Occoquan
was unfit for the movements of artillery, or even infantry, he
reconnoitred the ground towards their left, and formed the

project of turning it by a movement which would bring the
weight of his columns on their extreme left, and at the same
time overlap it, whilst a strong demonstration was made on
the ford at Bull Run, where General Tyler brought on the
serious skirmish of the 18th. In order to carry out this plan,
he had to debouch his columns from a narrow point at Centreville,
and march them round by various roads to points on the
upper part of the Run, where it was fordable in all directions,
intending to turn the enemy's batteries on the lower roads and
bridges. But although he started them at an early hour, the
troops moved so slowly the Confederates became aware of
their design, and were enabled to concentrate considerable
masses of troops on their left.

The Federals were not only slow, but disorderly. The regiments
in advance stopped at streams to drink and fill their
canteens, delaying the regiments in the rear. They wasted
their provisions, so that many of them were without food at
noon, when they were exhausted by the heat of the sun, and
by the stifling vapors, of their own dense columns. When
they at last came into action some divisions were not in their
places, so that the line of battle was broken; and those which
were in their proper position were exposed, without support,
to the enemy's fire. A delusion of masked batteries pressed
on their brain. To this was soon added a hallucination about
cavalry, which might have been cured, had the Federals possessed
a few steady squadrons to manœuvre on their flanks
and in the intervals of their line. Nevertheless, they advanced
and encountered the enemy's fire with some spirit; but the
Confederates were enabled to move up fresh battalions, and to
a certain extent to establish an equality between the numbers
of their own troops and the assailants, whilst they had the advantages
of better cover and ground. An apparition of a disorderly
crowd of horsemen in front of the much-boasting Fire
Zouaves of New York threw them into confusion and flight,
and a battery which they ought to have protected was taken.
Another battery was captured by the mistake of an officer,
who allowed a Confederate regiment to approach the guns,
thinking they were Federal troops, till their first volley destroyed
both horses and gunners. At the critical moment,
General Johnston, who had escaped from the feeble observation
and untenacious grip of General Patterson and his time-expired
volunteers, and had been hurrying down his troops
from Winchester by train, threw his fresh battalions on the

flank and rear of the Federal right. When the General ordered
a retreat, rendered necessary by the failure of the
attack—disorder spread, which increased—the retreat became
a flight, which degenerated—if a flight can degenerate
—into a panic, the moment the Confederates pressed them
with a few cavalry and horse artillery. The efforts of the
Generals to restore order and confidence were futile. Fortunately
a weak reserve was posted at Centreville, and these
were formed in line on the slope of the hill, whilst McDowell
and his officers exerted themselves with indifferent success to
arrest the mass of the army, and make them draw up behind
the reserve, telling the men a bold front was their sole chance
of safety. At midnight it became evident the morale of the
army was destroyed, and nothing was left but a speedy retrograde
movement, with the few regiments and guns which were
in a condition approaching to efficiency, upon the defensive
works of Washington.

Notwithstanding the reverse of fortune, McDowell did not
appear willing to admit his estimate of the Southern troops
was erroneous, or to say "Change armies, and I'll fight the
battle over again." He still held Mississippians, Alabamians,
Louisianians, very cheap, and did not see, or would not confess,
the full extent of the calamity which had fallen so heavily
on him personally. The fact of the evening's inactivity was
conclusive in his mind that they had a dearly bought success,
and he looked forward, though in a subordinate capacity, to a
speedy and glorious revenge.

July 25th.—The unfortunate General Patterson, who could
not keep Johnston from getting away from Winchester, is to
be dismissed the service—honorably, of course—that is,
he is to be punished because his men would insist on going
home in face of the enemy, as soon as their three months
were up, and that time happened to arrive just as it would be
desirable to operate against the Confederates. The latter have
lost their chance. The Senate, the House of Representatives,
the Cabinet, the President, are all at their ease once more,
and feel secure in Washington. Up to this moment the Confederates
could have taken it with very little trouble. Maryland
could have been roused to arms, and Baltimore would
have declared for them. The triumph of the non-aggressionists,
at the head of whom is Mr. Davis, in resisting the demands
of the party which urges an actual invasion of the
North as the best way of obtaining peace, may prove to be

very disastrous. Final material results must have justified
the occupation of Washington.

I dined at the Legation, where were Mr. Sumner and some
English visitors desirous of going South. Lord Lyons gives
no encouragement to these adventurous persons.

July 26th.—Whether it is from curiosity to hear what I
have to say or not, the number of my visitors is augmenting.
Among them was a man in soldier's uniform, who sauntered
into my room to borrow "five or ten dollars," on the ground
that he was a waiter at the Clarendon Hotel when I was stopping
there, and wanted to go North, as his time was up. His
anecdotes were stupendous. General Meigs and Captain Macomb,
of the United States Engineers, paid me a visit, and
talked of the disaster very sensibly. The former is an able
officer, and an accomplished man—the latter, son, I believe,
of the American general of that name, distinguished in the
war with Great Britain. I had a long conversation with
General McDowell, who bears his supersession with admirable
fortitude, and complains of nothing, except the failure of his
officers to obey orders, and the hard fate which condemned
Him to lead an army of volunteers—Captain Wright, aide-de-camp
to General Scott, Lieutenant Wise, of the Navy, and
many others. The communications received from the Northern
States have restored the spirits of all Union men, and not
a few declare they are glad of the reverse, as the North will
now be obliged to put forth all its strength.