Nahant, July 28, 1861.
My Dearest Mary:
I have not written to Forster, because I have taken it for granted that he sees
my letters to you, and I could only write the same facts and the same
conclusions to other correspondents. Nevertheless, I wish very much to write a
line to him and to Milnes, and especially to Lord de Grey, and shall certainly
do so within a very short time. I was delighted to hear of young Ridley's
triumphs, and sincerely sympathize in the joy of Lord and Lady Wensleydale, to
whom pray give my kindest remembrance and congratulations. I am very much
obliged to Lord John Russell for his kindness in sending me a copy of his note
to Mr. Everett. I have thought very often of writing myself to Lord John, and
have abstained because I knew that his time was so thoroughly occupied as to
leave him little leisure for unofficial correspondence, and because I knew also
that his despatches from Washington and his conversations with Mr. Adams must
place him entirely in possession of all the facts of this great argument, and I
have not the vanity to suppose that any commentary which I could make would
alter the conclusion of a mind so powerful and experienced as his.
“If on the 4th of March,” he says to Mr. Everett, “you had
allowed the Confederate States to go out from among you, you could have
prevented the extension of slavery and confined it to the slave-holding States.”
But, unfortunately, had this permission been given, there would have been no “you”
left. The existence of this government consists in its unity. Once admit the
principle of secession, and it has ceased to be; there is no authority then
left either to prevent the extension of slavery, or to protect the life or
property of a single individual on our share of the continent. Permit the
destruction of the great law which has been supreme ever since we were a
nation, and any other law may be violated at will. We have no government but
this one, since we were dependent and then insurgent colonies. Take away that,
and you take away our all. This is not merely the most logical of theories, but
the most unquestionable of facts. This great struggle is one between law and
anarchy. The slaveholders mutiny against all government on this continent,
because it has been irrevocably decided no further to extend slavery. Peaceful
acquiescence in the withdrawal of the seven cotton States would have been
followed by the secession of the remaining eight slave States, and probably by
the border free States. Pennsylvania would have set up for itself. There would
probably have been an attempt at a Western Confederacy, and the city of New
York had already announced its intention of organizing itself into a free town,
and was studying the constitutions of Frankfort and Hamburg.
In short, we had our choice to submit at once to
dismemberment and national extinction at the command of the slavery oligarchy
which has governed us for forty years, or to fight for our life. The war forced
upon us by the slaveholders has at last been accepted, and it is amazing to me
that its inevitable character and the absolute justice of our cause do not
carry conviction to every unprejudiced mind. Those, of course, who believe with
the Confederates that slavery is a blessing, and the most fitting corner-stone
of a political edifice, will sympathize with their cause. But those who believe
it to be a curse should, I think, sympathize with us, who, while circumscribing
its limits and dethroning it as a political power, are endeavoring to maintain
the empire of the American Constitution and the English common law over this
great continent. This movement in which we now engage, and which Jefferson Davis
thinks so ridiculous, is to me one of the most noble spectacles which I
remember in history. Twenty millions of people have turned out as a great posse
comitatus to enforce the laws over a mob of two or three millions, — not
more, — led on by two or three dozen accomplished, daring, and reckless
desperados. This is the way history will record this transaction, be the issue
what it may; and if we had been so base as to consent to our national death
without striking a blow, our epitaph would have been more inglorious than I
hope it may prove to be.
Don't be too much cast down about Bull Run. In a military
point of view it is of no very great significance. We have lost, perhaps, at
the utmost, 1000 men, 2000 muskets, and a dozen cannon or so. There was a
panic, it is true, and we feel ashamed, awfully mortified; but our men had
fought four or five hours without flinching, against concealed batteries, at
the cannon's mouth, under a blazing July Virginia sun, taking battery after
battery, till they were exhausted with thirst, and their tongues were hanging
out of their mouths. It was physically impossible for these advanced troops to
fight longer, and the reserves were never brought up. So far I only say
what is undisputed. The blame for the transaction cannot be fairly assigned
till we get official accounts. As for the affair itself, the defeat was a
foregone conclusion. If you read again the earlier part of my last letter, you
will see that I anticipated, as did we all, that the grand attack on Manassas
was to be made with McClellan's column, Patterson's and McDowell's combined.
This would have given about 125,000 men. Instead of this, McDowell's advance
with some 50,000 men, not onethird part of which were engaged, while the rebels
had 100,000 within immediate reach of the scene of action. You will also see by
the revelations made in Congress and in the New York “Times” that this has been
purely a politician's battle. It is in a political point of view, not a
military, that the recent disaster is most deplorable. The rebellion has of
course gained credit by this repulse of our troops.
As for the Civil War, nothing could have averted it. It is
the result of the forty years' aggression of the slavery power. Lincoln's
election was a vote by a majority of every free State that slavery should go no
further, and then the South dissolved the Union. Suppose we had acknowledged
the Confederacy, there would have been war all the same. Whether we are called
two confederacies or one, the question of slavery in the Territories has got to
be settled by war, and so has the possession of the Mississippi and the Gulf of
Mexico. Even on the impossible theory that the United States continued to exist
as a government after submitting without a struggle to dismemberment, still it
would be obliged to fight for the rights of its four or five million of tonnage
to navigate American waters.
In brief, the period has arrived for us, as it has often
arrived for other commonwealths in history, when we must fight for national
existence, or agree to be extinguished peaceably. I am not very desponding,
although the present is gloomy. Perhaps the day will come ere long when we
shall all of us, not absolutely incapacitated by age or sickness, be obliged to
shoulder our rifles as privates in the ranks. At present there seems no lack of
men. The reverse of last Sunday has excited the enthusiasm afresh, and the
government receives new regiments faster than it can provide for them. As I am
not fit to be an officer, being utterly without military talent or training,
and as it is now decided that such responsible offices shall not be conferred
except upon those who can bear an examination by competent military
authorities, I am obliged to regret my want of early education in the only
pursuit which is now useful. As to going abroad and immersing myself again in
the sixteenth century, it is simply an impossibility. I can think of nothing
but American affairs, and should be almost ashamed if it were otherwise.
A grim winter is before us. Gather your rosebuds while you
may, is my advice to you, and engage your passages not before October. But
having said this, I give you carte blanche, and let me know your decision when
made. The war is to be a long one. We have no idea of giving in, and no doubt
of ultimate triumph. Our disaster is nothing; our disgrace is great, and it
must be long before it can be retrieved, because General Scott will now be free
to pursue the deliberate plan which he had marked out when he was compelled by
outside pressure to precipitate his raw levies against an overwhelming superiority
of rebels in a fortified position.
A few days ago I went over to Quincy by appointment to dine
with old Mr. Quincy. The dinner was very pleasant. Edmund was there, and very
agreeable, with Professor Gould, and Mr. Waterston, and the ladies. The old
gentleman, now in his ninetieth year, is straight as an arrow, with thirty-two
beautiful teeth, every one his own, and was as genial and cordial as possible.
He talked most agreeably on all the topics of the day, and after dinner
discussed the political question in all its bearings with much acumen and with
plenty of interesting historical reminiscences. He was much pleased with the
messages I delivered to him from Lord Lyndhurst, and desired in return that I
should transmit his most cordial and respectful regards. Please add mine to
his, as well as to Lady Lyndhurst. when you have the privilege of seeing them.
I was very sorry not to be able to accept young Mr. Adams's offered
hospitality, but I had made arrangements to return to Nahant that night. Pray
give my best regards to Mr. and Mrs. Adams. Last Saturday I went to Cambridge
and visited Longfellow. He was in bed, with both hands tied up; but his burns
are recovering, and his face will not be scarred, and he will not lose the use
of either hand. He was serene and resigned, but dreaded going down-stairs into
the desolate house. His children were going in and out of the room. He spoke of
his wife, and narrated the whole tragedy very gently, and without any paroxysms
of grief, although it was obvious that he felt himself a changed man. Holmes
came in. We talked of general matters, and Longfellow was interested to listen
to and speak of the news of the day and of the all-absorbing topic of the war.
The weather has been almost cloudless for the seven weeks
that I have been at home — one blaze of sunshine. But the drought is getting to
be alarming. It has hardly rained a drop since the first week in June.
Fortunately, the charm seems now broken, and to-day there have been some refreshing
showers, with a prospect of more. I dined on Saturday with Holmes. He is as
charming, witty, and sympathetic as ever. I wish I could send you something
better than this, but unless I should go to Washington again I don't see what I
can write now that is worth reading. To-morrow I dine here with Wharton, who is
unchanged, and desires his remembrances to you; and next day I dine with Lowell
at Cambridge, where I hope to find Hawthorne, Holmes, and others. . . .
P. S. Tell Tom Brown,
with my kindest regards, that every one is reading him here with delight, and
the dedication is especially grateful to our feelings. The Boston edition (I
wish he had the copyright) has an uncommonly good likeness of him.
As for Wadsworth, I heard from several sources of his energy
and pluck. Wharton has been in my room since I began this note. He had a letter
from his sister, in which she says John Vennes, a servant (an Englishman) of
theirs, who enlisted in the Sixty-ninth New York, had written to say that his
master was the bravest of the brave, and that he was very proud of him as he
saw him without his hat, and revolver in hand, riding about and encouraging the
troops at the last moment to make a stand. I had a letter from Colonel Gordon
the other day. He is at Harper's Ferry, and not at all discouraged by the
results of the battle, in which of course he had no part. He says: “Our late
check, it seems to me, is almost a victory. From seven to four did our brave
troops face that deadly fire of artillery and infantry delivered from
breastworks and hidden embrasures. Over and over again did they roll back the
greatly outnumbering columns of the enemy, until at last, when a foolish panic
seized them, they left the enemy in such a condition that he could not pursue
them more than a mile and a half; so that one entire battery, which they might
have had for the taking, was left all night on the field and finally returned
to us again. Many such victories would depopulate the South, and from the
victors there is no sound of joy. In Charleston, Virginia, at Harper's Ferry,
and at Martinsburg they mourn the loss of many of their sons. Fewer in numbers,
we were more than their match, and will meet them again.'”
In estimating the importance of this affair as to its
bearings on the future, it should, I think, be never forgotten that the panic,
whatever was its mysterious cause, was not the result of any overpowering onset
of the enemy. It did not begin with the troops engaged.
Here we are not discouraged. The three months' men are
nearly all of them going back again. Congress has voted 500,000 men and
5,000,000 of dollars; has put on an income tax of three per cent., besides
raising twenty or thirty millions extra on tea, coffee, sugar, and other
hitherto untaxed articles; and government securities are now as high in the
market as they were before the late battle. . . .
J. L. M.
SOURCE: George William Curtis, editor, The
Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley in Two Volumes, Library Edition,
Volume 2, p. 191-8
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