A runaway crowd at Washington--The army of the Potomac in
retreat--Mail-day--Want of order and authority--Newspaper
lies--Alarm at Washington--Confederate prisoners--General
M‘Clellan--M. Mercier--Effects of the defeat on Mr. Seward and
the President--M‘Dowell--General Patterson.
_July 22nd._--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 vapour 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 far 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 22nd,” 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 22nd, 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 colour
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 down-hearted, 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 demoralised 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
M‘Dowell 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 militia
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 disorganised, 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
favour of the Federals generally, the least arrogant stating that
M‘Dowell 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 rumours 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 valour, 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 disorganised. 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 dispatches as they arrived from the
scene of action, left it in despair when the fatal words tripped from
the needle and the defeat was clearly 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 clamouring
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 3 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 23rd._--The morning was far advanced when I awoke, and hearing
the roll of waggons 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 waggons, 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 fragment of regiments should repair, and
by organising 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 waggons 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 M‘Dowell, 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 M‘Dowell, 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 M‘Dowell 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
M‘Clellan 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 M‘Clellan 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. M‘Clellan
is about thirty-six years of age, was educated at West Point, where
he was junior to M‘Dowell, 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 rumoured 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 demeanour 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
honour in America.
_July 24th._--I rode out before breakfast in company with Mr. Monson
across the Long Bridge over to Arlington House. General M‘Dowell 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 M‘Dowell 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’s 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 vapours 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 M‘Dowell 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, M‘Dowell 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--honourably, 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 M‘Dowell, who bears
his supercession 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.