WITH THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC.
Carleton's account of the battle of Bull Run, where the Union forces
first won the day, and then lost it through a panic, was so graphic,
accurate, and comprehensive, that the readers of the Boston _Journal_
at once poured in their requests that the same writer should continue
his work and reports.
From his position with the Union batteries he had a fine view of the
whole engagement. Many of the statements which he made were, as to
their accuracy, perfect. For example, when the Confederates fired
continuous volleys, making one long roll of musketry, mingled with
screams, yells, and cheers, while their batteries sent a rain of shell
and round shot, grape and canister, upon a body of three companies of
Massachusetts men, Carleton stood with his watch in his hand to see
how long these raw troops could stand such a fire. It is wonderful to
read to-day his volume of "Army Correspondence," and find so little to
correct.
Besides letters written on the field during the first of four battles,
he wrote from Washington in review of the whole movement. He was not
at all discouraged by what had happened, believing that the bitter
experience, though valuable, was worth its cost. He does not seem to
have been among the number of those who expected that the great
insurrection would be put down in a few months. Like every one else,
he was at first smitten with that glamour which the Western soldiers,
led by Grant, soon learned to call "McClellanism." It was with genuine
admiration that he noticed the untiring industry and superb organizing
powers of "Little Mac;" who, whatever his later faults may have been,
was the man who transformed a mob of militia into that splendid
machine animated by an unquailing soul, "The Army of the Potomac." Yet
in the cool light of history, we must rate Gen. George B. McClellan as
the military Erasmus of this war of national reformation, while Grant
was its Luther.
Late in August, after ten days' rest at home to recruit exhausted
energies, Carleton was once more at his post in the "City of
Magnificent Distances--and big lies," attempting to draw out the truth
from whole maelstroms of falsehood. He writes: "Truly this is a city
given to lying." He had a habit of hunting down falsehoods, of tracing
rumors to their holes. Many an hour in the blazing sun, consuming his
strength, did this hater of lies spend in chasing empty breaths. Once
he rode forty miles on horseback, simply to confirm or reject an
assertion. Very early, however, he learned to put every report upon
the touchstone, and under the nitric acid of criticism. He quickly
gained experience, and saved much vexation to himself and his readers.
In this way his letters became what they are, like coins put in the
pyx, and mintage that survives the best of the goldsmiths. When read
thirty-five years after the first drying of the ink, we have a
standard of truth, needing correction, for the most part, only here
and there, in such details as men clearly discern only in the
perspective of time.
Under McClellan's strict orders, Washington became less of a national
bar-room. The camps were made models of cleanliness, hygiene, and
comfort, and schools of strict preparation for the stern work ahead.
Carleton often rode through them, and out on the picket-line. Among
his other studies, being a musician, he soon learned the various notes
and tones of round and conical bullet, of globular and case shot, of
shell and rocket, as an Indian learns the various sounds and calls of
birds and beasts. Never wearing eye-glasses, until very late in life,
and then only for reading, he was able, when standing behind or
directly before a cannon, to see the missile moving as a black spot on
the invisible air, and from a side view to perceive the short plug of
condensed air in front of a ball, which is now clearly revealed by
instantaneous photography. He soon noted how the variation in the
charge of powder, and the curve of the rifle, changed the pitch of the
ball, and how and why certain shells with ragged edges of lead scream
like demons, and work upon the nerves by their sound and fury rather
than their total of results. He soon discovered that in a battle the
artillery, except at short ranges, and in the open, bears no
comparison in its killing power to the rifles of the infantry. Like an
old soldier, he soon came to look with something like contempt upon
the ponderous cannon and mortars, and to admire the low firing of the
old veteran musket-men.
During those humiliating days, when the stars and bars waved upon
Munson's Hill within sight of the Capitol, Carleton saw much of the
Confederates through his glass. Picket-firing, though irregular and,
probably, from a European point of view, unmilitary, trained the
troops to steadiness of nerve. Many things in the first part of the
war were done which were probably not afterwards often repeated; for
example, the meeting of officers on the picket-lines, who had
communications with each other, because they were freemasons. In
September, the Confederates fell back from Munson's Hill, and on
October 21st the battle at Poolsville, or Ball's Bluff, took place, in
which, out of 1,800 Federals engaged, over one-third were killed,
wounded or missing. The Fifteenth Massachusetts regiment suffered
heavily. Colonel Devens, afterwards major-general and attorney-general,
covered himself with glory, but the brave Colonel Baker lost his life.
Edward Dickinson Baker, born in England, had come to the United States
in his youth. Between his thirtieth and fortieth year he had served in
Congress as representative from Illinois. Then removing to California,
he became a popular orator of the Republican party. In 1860 he was
elected United States Senator from Oregon. I remember reading with a
thrill his speech in the Senate, and his rebuke of Breckinridge. A few
days later he was in Philadelphia holding a commission as colonel. He
visited in their different halls the volunteer fire companies of our
Quaker City. In torrents of overwhelming eloquence, he called on them
to enlist in his famous "California Regiment," which was quickly
clothed, equipped, and given the first rudiments of military
instruction. I remember his superb, manly figure, in the very prime of
life, his rosy English face set in a glory of hair just turning to
silver. With hat off, he rode up and down the line, as the regiment
stood in "company front" on Federal Street, between the old Cooper
Shop (which was destined later to be the great Volunteers'
Refreshment Saloon) and the Baltimore Depot, where they were to take
cars for the seat of war. Like the "ten thousand" with Klearchos,
foreigner, but also friend and commander, of whom Xenophon in the
"Anabasis" speaks, it was already uncertain whether the Philadelphia
men most feared or loved their lion-hearted leader. A few weeks went
by, the tragedy of Ball's Bluff took place, and in Independence Hall I
saw the brave Colonel Baker's body lying in state. In that hall of
heroes, it seemed to my imagination as though the painted eyes of the
Revolutionary heroes looked down in sympathy and approval. There, if
not already among them, soon hung also the picture of Lieutenant Henry
Greble, friend and neighbor, killed at Big Bethel, and the first
officer in the regular army slain during the war. Colonel, afterwards
General, Charles Devens, Jr., whose acquaintance Mr. Coffin made about
this time, distinguished himself from this early engagement at Ball's
Bluff throughout the war, and until the closing scene at Appomattox
Court House, rising to the rank of brevet major-general. Long
afterwards, in Boston, having been attorney-general of the United
States, I knew him as the judge of the Supreme Court of
Massachusetts, meeting him socially more than once, and noticing the
warm friendship between the famous war correspondent and this
dignified interpreter of law.
After the battle of Ball's Bluff, seeing in detail the other and the
hideous side of war in the mutilation of the human frame, and the
awful horror of wounds, Carleton took a long ride through Eastern
Maryland to look at the rebel batteries along the lower Potomac and to
study the roads, the food products, and the black and white humanity
of the Chesapeake Bay and Potomac regions, besides informing himself
as to the Union flotilla. In the absence of active military
operations, he wrote of the religious life of the soldiers. He was
appalled at the awful profanity around him, and his constant prayer to
God was for strength to resist the demoralizing influences around him,
which seemed to him a hell on earth. His wife's words followed him
"like a strain of music," and "the infinite purity of Jesus" was his
inspiring influence.
He made himself thoroughly acquainted with the New England regiments,
and studied the details in the "mosaic of the army." He became so
expert in studying the general composition of the regiments, their
physical appearance, and ways of life, peculiarities of thought,
speech, and action, that usually within five minutes he could tell
from what State, and usually from what locality a regiment had come.
He writes:
"A regiment from Vermont is as unlike a regiment from Pennsylvania
almost as a pea from a pumpkin. Both are excellent. Both are brave.
Both will fight well; but in the habits of life, in modes of doing a
thing, they are widely different."
"Just look at the division that crosses the Potomac, and see the
mosaic of McClellan's army. Commencing on the right there is McCall's
division, one grand lump of Pennsylvania coal and iron. There is
Smith's division, containing a block of Vermont marble; then Porter's
tough conglomerate of Pennsylvania, New York, Michigan, Massachusetts,
Maine, and Rhode Island; then McDowell's, a splendid specimen of New
York; then Blenker's, a magnificent contribution from Germany, with
such names as Stahl, Wurnhe, Amsburg, Bushbeck, Bahler, Steinwick,
Saest, Betje, Cultes D'Utassy, Von Gilsa, and Schimmelpfennig, who
talk the language of their Fatherland, sing the Rhine songs, and drink
a deluge of lager beer,--slow, sure, reliable men, of the stock that
stood undismayed when all things were against them, in the times of
Frederick the Great, who lost everything except courage, and, that
being invincible, regained all they had lost. Then there are the Irish
brigades and regiments from a stock which needs no words of praise,
for their deeds are written in history. Without enumerating all the
divisions, we see Yankees, Germans, Irish, Scotch, Italians,
Frenchmen, Norwegians, and Dutchmen,--all in one army; and, grandest
spectacle of all, moved by one common impulse to put down this
rebellion, and to save for all future time the principle upon which
this government is founded."
Weeks and months passed, and Carleton became acquainted with all the
minutiae of camp life. He studied the peculiarities of the sutler, the
army mule, the government rations, and the pies concocted in New York.
He enjoyed the grand reviews, noting with his quick eye the
difference, in the great host, between the volunteers and the
regulars. Of the type of that noble band of officers and men, none the
less patriotic because more thoroughly educated in drills than the
volunteers, he wrote: "His steps are regulated,--his motions, his
manners,--he is a _regular_ in all these. The volunteer stoops beneath
the load on his back. He is far more like Bunyan's 'Pilgrim's
Progress,' with his burden of sin, than the regular. His steps are
uneven, his legs are more unsteady. He carries his gun at a different
angle. He lacks the finish which is obtained only by hard drill, and
exact discipline." He closed this letter with a tribute of praise to
Tidball's superb battery of artillery.
At this time the cavalry were not in good repute, General Scott not
being in favor of any horsemen, except for scouting purposes. In this
arm of the service the Confederates were far ahead of the Union
soldiers. Grant, Sheridan, and Ronald McKenzie had not yet transformed
our Northern horsemen into whirlwinds of fire. After various other
experiences, including a long ride through Western Maryland, Carleton,
within a few days before Christmas, was called by his employers to
leave the Army of the Potomac, to go west to the prospective
battle-field, where the heavy blows were soon to be struck. He was
succeeded in Washington by Mr. Benjamin Perley Poore. A few noble
words of farewell in his 109th letter, dated Washington, December 21,
1861, closed Carleton's first campaign in the East, his acquaintance
with the Army of the Potomac having begun on the 12th of June. Having
won the hearts of the soldiers in camp, and their friends at home, he
left for "the next great battle-field" in the West, where, as he said,
"history will soon be written in blood." He would see how the navy, as
well as the army, was to bring peace by its men of valor, and its
heavy guns,--"preachers against treason." His experience was to be of
war on the waters, as well as on land.