Showing posts with label Henry J Raymond. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Henry J Raymond. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 5, 2023

Diary of Gideon Welles: October 1865

Some slight indisposition and pressing duties have postponed my daily remarks. The President had expressed to me his intention to go to Richmond and Raleigh on the 3d inst., and invited me to accompany him, but I doubted if he would carry the design out, and he said on the 3d he must postpone it for the present, which I think will be for the season.

A vote was taken in Connecticut on Monday, the 2d, on the proposed Constitutional Amendment to erase the word "white" and permit the colored persons to vote. I was not surprised that the proposition was defeated by a very decided majority, yet I had expected that the question might be carried on the strong appeal to party. But there is among the people a repugnance to the negro, and a positive disinclination to lower the standard of suffrage. They will not receive the negro into their parlors on terms of social intimacy, and they are unwilling to put him in the jury-box or any political position. There are probably not five hundred colored persons who could be made electors, and the grievance is therefore not very great.

The defeat of the Constitutional Amendment has caused a great howl to be set up by certain extremists, in the State and out of it. While I might have voted affirmatively had I been in the State, I have no wailing over the negative results. I regret to witness the abuse of the Press and other papers on those whom it failed to convince, and who consequently voted according to their convictions. This abuse and denunciation will tend to alienate friends, and weaken the influence of the Union leaders in future elections.

The effect of the vote elsewhere will be to impair centralization, which has been setting in strong of late, and invigorate State action, and in this respect the result will be beneficent. I apprehend our extreme negro advocates are doing serious injury to the negro in their zeal in his behalf, and they are certainly doing harm to our system by insisting on the exercise of arbitrary and unauthorized power in aid of the negro.

Some of the workmen in the Philadelphia Navy Yard complained that an assessment had been levied upon them for party purposes. I had written a pretty decisive letter correcting the evil when I went to the Cabinet-meeting on Tuesday, and had given it out to be copied. After the general business before the Cabinet had been disposed of, the President took me aside and said complaints of a similar character had been made to him. I told him my own conclusion and what I had done, which he approved. The opportunity is most favorable to correct a pernicious practice, which I last year would not sanction, and which led Raymond, Thurlow Weed, and others to try to prejudice President Lincoln against me.

On Wednesday Amos Kendall called and wished me to go with him to the President. He alluded to old friendly political associations and relations between us. I was glad of the opportunity of taking him to the President, whom I was about to call upon with my letter to the Commandant of the Philadelphia Navy Yard, respecting the improper assessment of workmen. After a brief interview Mr. Kendall left, and I read my letter concerning the assessment of workmen, which the President complimented and desired it should go to other yards and be made public. [The letter follows.]

NAVY DEPARTMENT,      

3 October, 1865.

 

SIR: The attention of the Department has been called to an attempt recently made in Philadelphia to assess or tax for party purposes the workmen in the Navy Yard. It is claimed by those who have participated in these proceedings, that the practice has prevailed in former years, at that and other Navy Yards, of levying contributions of this character on mechanics and laborers employed by the Government.

 

Such an abuse cannot be permitted; and it is the object of this communication to prohibit it, wherever it may be practiced.

 

From inquiries instituted by the Department, on the complaint of sundry workmen, who represented that a committee had undertaken, through the agency of the masters, to collect from each of the employés in their respective departments, a sum equal to one day's labor, for party purposes—it has been ascertained that there had been received from the workmen before these proceedings were arrested, the sum of $1052.

 

This and all other attempts to exact money from laborers in the public service, either by compulsion or voluntary contribution, is, in every point of view, reprehensible, and is wholly and absolutely prohibited. Whatever money may have been exacted, and is now in the hands of the Masters, will be forthwith returned to the workmen from whom it was received; and any Master or other appointee of this Department who may be guilty of a repetition of this offense, or shall hereafter participate in levying contributions in the Navy Yards, from persons in the Government service, for party purposes, will incur the displeasure of the Department, and render himself liable to removal. The organization of the Yard must not be perverted to aid any party. Persons who desire to make voluntary party contributions, can find opportunities to do so, at ward or other local political meetings, and on other occasions than during working hours. They are neither to be assisted nor opposed, in this matter, by government officials. The Navy Yards must not be prostituted to any such purpose, nor will Committee men be permitted to resort thither, to make collections for any political party whatever. Working men, and others in the service of the Government, are expected and required to devote their time and energies during working hours, and while in the Yard, to the labor which they are employed to execute.


It has been also represented that some of the Masters at some of the Navy Yards employ extra hands preceding warmly contested elections, and that much of the time of these superfluous hands is devoted to party electioneering. Such an abuse, if it exists in any department of any of the Navy Yards, must be corrected. No more persons should be retained in the Navy Yards than the public service actually requires. Party gatherings and party discussions are at all times to be avoided within the Yards. It will be the duty of the Commandants of the respective Yards, and of all officers, to see that this order is observed.

 

Very respectfully,

G. WELLES, 

Secty. of the Navy.

COMMO. CHAS. H. BELL,

Commdt. Navy Yard,

New York.

 

(Also written to all the other Commandants of Navy Yards.)

I called on Seward on Wednesday in relation to the Stonewall, the Harriet Lane, the Florida, etc., as he was about leaving to be absent for a fortnight, and we may wish to send to Havana before he returns. After disposing of business, and I had left his room, he sent his messenger to recall me. He seemed a little embarrassed and hesitating at first, but said he wished to say to me that he had had full and free and unreserved talks recently with the President; that he had found him friendly and confiding, and more communicative than Mr. Lincoln ever had been; that he knew and could say to me that the President had for me, for him (Seward), and indeed for all the Cabinet a friendly regard; that he had no intention of disturbing any member of the Cabinet; that I had reason to be specially gratified with the President's appreciation of me. Some general conversation followed on past transactions and events. Among other things we got on to Blair's letters and speeches. He says the original armistice, alluded to by Blair, was left by Buchanan with other papers on the office table at the Executive Mansion or with the Attorney-General.

Seward, McCulloch, Harlan, and Speed were absent from Washington on Friday, the 6th, the day of the last Cabinet-meeting. No very important questions were presented and discussed. The presence of the assistants instead of the principals operates, I perceive, as an obstruction to free interchange of opinion.

At the last Cabinet-meeting in September, Seward read a strange letter addressed to one of the provisional governors, informing him that the President intended to continue the provisional governments in the several insurrectionary States until Congress assembled and should take the subject in hand with the newly formed constitutions. I was amazed, and remarked that I did not understand the question or status of the States to be as stated, and was relieved when the President said he disapproved of that part of the letter. Speed asked to have the letter again read and was evidently satisfied with it. Seward made a pencil correction or alteration that was unimportant and meaningless, when the President said very emphatically he wished no reference to Congress in any such communication, or in any such way. Stanton, I observed, remained perfectly silent though very attentive. It appeared to me that the subject was not novel to him.

In an interview with the President the Monday following (the 2d inst.), I expressed my wish that no letter should be sent defining the policy of the Administration without full and careful consideration. The President said he should see to that, and that Seward's letter as modified by himself was a harmless affair.

I have sent out another circular in relation to the appointment of masters in the navy yards. These appointments have caused great difficulty in the Department, the Members of Congress insisting on naming them, and almost without an exception the party instead of the mechanical qualifications of the man is urged. It is best to be relieved of this evil, and I shall try to cure it.

I see that Senator Grimes by letter expresses his disapproval of the Radical movements in the Iowa State Convention. Doolittle has been still more emphatic in Wisconsin. Things are working very well. The conventions in the Rebel States are discharging their duties as satisfactorily, perhaps, as could be expected. Some of the extreme Republicans, of the Sumner school, are dissatisfied, but I think their numbers are growing less. The Democrats, on the other hand, are playing what they consider a shrewd party game, by striving to take advantage of the errors and impracticable notions of the ultras. Therefore the policy of the Administration appears to be growing in favor, though the machinery of politics is at work in an opposite direction.

SOURCE: Gideon Welles, Diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy Under Lincoln and Johnson, Vol. 2: April 1, 1864 — December 31, 1866, p. 375-9

Diary of Gideon Welles: Tuesday, October 10, 1865

As I went into the President's office this morning and was passing him to enter the library, he took occasion to express his satisfaction with my circulars and his thorough conviction of their rectitude. He was exceedingly pleased with the manner of their reception by the public. Said Preston King, when last there, had advised that we should pursue a straightforward course and leave consequences to themselves.

Leaving the President, I went on to the library. Stanton and Dennison were there, and, I think, Ashton and W. E. Chandler. Harlan soon came in. Dennison almost immediately addressed me on the subject of my circular respecting assessments. He said it was likely to have an effect on other Departments. He had received this morning a petition from the clerks in the New York post-office inclosing my circular, and asking to be relieved of a five per cent assessment which had been levied upon them for party purposes. I remarked that they were proper subjects to be exempt from such a tax in times like these, that I disliked and was decidedly opposed to this whole principle of assessment of employés of the government for party objects,—if not broken up it would demoralize the government and country.

Stanton said if I had issued such a circular one year ago, we should have lost the election. I questioned the correctness of that assertion, and told him that I took the same ground then that I did now, although I issued no circular. He said he was aware I objected to assessments in the yards, but had understood that I finally backed down and consented. I assured him he was greatly mistaken; that Raymond had annoyed President Lincoln with his demands, and that I had been importuned to permit the tax to be levied but that I had never consented or changed my views, or actions, or been ever requested to do so by President Lincoln.

Dennison said that Mr. Harlan's committee—Harlan, being chairman—had made an assessment on all office-holders and he thought it was right. Stanton earnestly affirmed its rightfulness, and said the Democrats raised two dollars for every one raised by us. Asked if I did not pay an assessment. I told him I contributed money, but did not submit to be assessed or taxed. Harlan sat by and said nothing, though occasionally rolling up his eye and showing his peculiar smile. I told the gentlemen that, while differing with them, I was gratified to have the President with me. He came in a few moments after, and the subject was dropped.

SOURCE: Gideon Welles, Diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy Under Lincoln and Johnson, Vol. 2: April 1, 1864 — December 31, 1866, p. 379-81

Diary of Gideon Welles: October 13, 1865

Met General Thomas of the Army of the Tennessee at the President's. He has a fine, soldierly appearance, and my impressions are that he has, intellectually and as a civilian, as well as a military man, no superior in the service. What I saw of him to-day confirmed my previous ideas of the man. He has been no courtly carpet officer, to dance attendance at Washington during the War, but has nobly done his duty.

Little was done at the Cabinet. Three of the assistants being present instead of the principals, there was a disinclination to bring forward measures or to interchange views freely. Stanton took occasion before the President came in to have a fling at my circular against party assessments, which seems to annoy him. I told him the principles and rule laid down in that circular were correct; that the idea which he advocated of a tax upon employés and office-holders was pernicious and dangerous, would embitter party contests and, if permitted to go on, would carry the country to the devil. Stanton said he then wished to go to the devil with it; that he believed in taxing officeholders for party purposes, compelling them to pay money to support the Administration which appointed them. Weed and Raymond are in this thing, and mad with me for cutting off supplies.

SOURCE: Gideon Welles, Diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy Under Lincoln and Johnson, Vol. 2: April 1, 1864 — December 31, 1866, p. 382

Tuesday, July 27, 2021

Diary of Gideon Welles: Saturday, December 17, 1864

Admiral Dahlgren writes me that Sherman is with him in his cabin (14th inst.).

Mr. Chandler,1 employed by the Department to attend to alleged frauds in the Philadelphia Navy Yard, arrived here this morning. Discloses great rascalities, of which we shall have more hereafter. Among others he mentions the facts connected with young Clandaniels, who was seduced by Scofield. Living on a salary of $750, pinched for subsistence, the serpent Scofield approached him, gave him in friendly kindness $50. He made further gratuities, then proposed to him, he being clerk of the storekeeper, to pass short weights and measure. To receipt for 70,000 pounds when there were but 50,000. His share in these villainies, C. says, is about $5000. He restores $3600 and his gold watch.

I directed Fox to go and request the President to be present in order that he might hear Chandler's statement, for, as I anticipated, the President had sent for Fox yesterday to inquire respecting Scofield. The President came, and on hearing Chandler's statement, seemed glad to know the facts. Says Thurlow Weed first came to him in behalf of Scofield; that he was disposed to act from representations then made, two or three months ago (it was before election); that he had communicated with me at that time, and sent the papers to Governor Morgan, who had given them over to Anthon, Judge-Advocate-General, to make a summary; that Anthon had done so and said Scofield was rightly convicted. Yesterday Mr. Spencer and others had pressed him very hard to release Scofield on his paying the fine, but he remarked he had some other matters pending. He therefore had sent for Fox to know how matters were.

I hardly think they will get Scofield released, after today's interview. But the President does not rightly appreciate Weed & Co., who are concerned in this business. He says Weed, on seeing Judge Anthon's report, said he had nothing further to say. Nor has he. But Raymond and Darling and others have been pushed forward, Raymond willingly, and doubtless under the expectation of high fees, for Scofield and others bid high.

This is one of the cases that has caused the malevolent intrigues of Raymond, Weed, and others against me. I have been in the way of their greed and intrigues. They could not use me but they have secretly slandered me, had their insinuations, flings, and contrivances through the press and social circles to injure me in public estimation. The work has been very adroitly done, but the President, while standing firmly by me, is not aware, I think, of the real motives that move them.

_______________

1 William E. Chandler, subsequently Secretary of the Navy under President Arthur and Senator from New Hampshire.

SOURCE: Gideon Welles, Diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy Under Lincoln and Johnson, Vol. 2: April 1, 1864 — December 31, 1866, p. 200-1

Diary of Gideon Welles: Wednesday, December 21, 1864

Wrote Gilpin, District Attorney at Philadelphia, in answer to his private letter as to prosecution for frauds in Philadelphia Navy Yard.

The papers are publishing the details of the expedition to Wilmington, and disclosing some confidential circumstances which ought not to be made public. One of the Philadelphia editors says the facts were ascertained and given to the press by Osborn of New York, a prowling mercenary correspondent of the newspapers who buys blackmail where he can, and sells intelligence surreptitiously obtained. I wrote to the Secretary of War, giving him the facts for such action as he may be disposed to take. He informed Fox that he would arrest and try by court martial.

Intelligence of the death of Mr. Dayton, our Minister to France, creates some commotion among public men. The event was sudden and his loss will be felt. . . . I had a light and pleasant acquaintance with him when in the Senate some fifteen or eighteen years ago, and we had some correspondence and one or two interviews in the Frémont campaign in 1856, when he was pleased to compliment me, on comparing Connecticut and New Jersey, with having done much to place my own State in a right position. We met again in the spring of 1861. He was a dignified and gentlemanly representative, not a trained diplomat, and unfortunately not acquainted with the language of the French Court. A numerous progeny has arisen at once to succeed him. John Bigelow, consul at Paris, has been appointed Chargé, and I doubt if any other person will be selected who is more fit. Raymond of the Times wants it, but Bigelow is infinitely his superior.

SOURCE: Gideon Welles, Diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy Under Lincoln and Johnson, Vol. 2: April 1, 1864 — December 31, 1866, p. 205

Saturday, May 1, 2021

Diary of Gideon Welles: Thursday, October 13, 1864

The President is greatly importuned and pressed by cunning intrigues just at this time. Thurlow Weed and Raymond are abusing his confidence and good nature badly. Hay says they are annoying the President sadly. This he tells Mr. Fox, who informs me. They want, Hay says, to control the Navy Yard but dislike to come to me, for I give them no favorable response. They claim that every mechanic or laborer who does not support the Administration should be turned out of employment. Hay's representations alarmed Fox, who made it a point to call on the President. F. reports that the President was feeling very well over the election returns, and, on the subject of the Navy Yard votes, expressed his intention of not further interfering but will turn the whole matter over to me whenever the politicians call upon him. I have no doubt he thinks so, but when Weed and Raymond, backed by Seward, insist that action must be taken, he will hardly know how to act. His convictions and good sense will place him with me, but they will alarm him with forebodings of disaster if he is not vindictive. Among other things an appeal has been made to him in behalf of Scofield, a convicted fraudulent contractor, who is now in prison to serve out his sentence. Without consulting me, the President has referred the subject to Judge-Advocate-General Holt, to review and report to him. Holt knows nothing of the case, and, with his other duties, cannot examine this matter thoroughly. Why should the President require him, an officer of another Department, wholly unacquainted with the subject, to report upon it? There are probably two thousand pages of manuscript. The New York party jobbers are in this thing. They will . . . try to procure [Scofield's] release and pardon for a consideration.

SOURCE: Gideon Welles, Diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy Under Lincoln and Johnson, Vol. 2: April 1, 1864 — December 31, 1866, p. 175-6

Diary of Gideon Welles: Saturday, October 15, 1864

The speeches of Jeff Davis betoken the close of the War. The rebellion is becoming exhausted, and I hope ere many months will be entirely suppressed. Not that there may not be lingering banditti to rob and murder for a while longer, the offspring of a demoralized state of society, but the organized rebellion cannot long endure.

One of the assistants from the office of Judge-Advocate Holt came from that office to make some inquiries as to the views of the Department in Scofield's case. He says that Thurlow Weed and Raymond are very urgent in the matter, and that some one named Williamson is active and pressing. I have no doubt a heavy fee lies behind a pardon in this case, which is pressed upon the President as if it were all-essential that it should be granted before the election. It pains me that the President should listen to such fellows in such a matter, or allow himself to be tampered with at all. The very fact that he avoids communicating with me on the subject is complimentary to me; at the same time it is evident that he has some conception of the unworthy purpose of the intriguers I mention.

General Banks called on me yesterday formally before leaving Washington. I have not previously seen him since he returned, though I hear he has called on part of the Cabinet. We had some conversation respecting his command and administration in Louisiana. The new constitution, the climate, etc., were discussed. Before leaving, he alluded to the accusations that had been made against him, and desired to know if there was anything specific. I told him there had been complaints about cotton and errors committed; that these were always numerous when there were reverses. That, he said, was very true, but he had been informed Admiral Porter had gone beyond that, and was his accuser. I remarked that several naval officers had expressed themselves dissatisfied, — some of them stronger than Admiral Porter, — that others besides naval officers had also complained.

The Republican of this evening has an article evidently originating with General Banks, containing some unworthy flings at both Lee and Porter. Banks did not write the paragraph nor perhaps request it to be written, but the writer is his willing tool and was imbued with General Banks's feelings. He is doubtless Hanscom, a fellow without conscience when his interest is concerned, an intimate and, I believe, a relative, of Banks.

SOURCE: Gideon Welles, Diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy Under Lincoln and Johnson, Vol. 2: April 1, 1864 — December 31, 1866, p. 177-8

Sunday, March 14, 2021

Diary of Gideon Welles: Saturday, September 3, 1864

New York City is shouting for McClellan, and there is a forced effort elsewhere to get a favorable response to the almost traitorous proceeding at Chicago. As usual, some timid Union men are alarmed, and there are some, like Raymond, Chairman of the National Committee, who have no fixed and reliable principles to inspire confidence, who falter, and another set, like Greeley, who have an uneasy, lingering hope that they can yet have an opportunity to make a new candidate. But this will soon be over. The Chicago platform is unpatriotic, almost treasonable to the Union. The issue is made up. It is whether a war shall be made against Lincoln to get peace with Jeff Davis. Those who met at Chicago prefer hostility to Lincoln rather than to Davis. Such is extreme partisanism.

We have to-day word that Atlanta is in our possession, but we have yet no particulars. It has been a hard, long struggle, continued through weary months. This intelligence will not be gratifying to the zealous partisans who have just committed the mistake of sending out a peace platform, and declared the war a failure. It is a melancholy and sorrowful reflection that there are among us so many who so give way to party as not to rejoice in the success of the Union arms. They feel a conscious guilt, and affect not to be dejected, but discomfort is in their countenances, deportment, and tone. While the true Unionists are cheerful and joyous, greeting all whom they meet over the recent news, the Rebel sympathizers shun company and are dolorous. This is the demon of party, — the days of its worst form, - a terrible spirit, which in its excess leads men to rejoice in the calamities of their country and to mourn its triumphs. Strange, and wayward, and unaccountable are men. While the facts are as I have stated, I cannot think these men are destitute of love of country; but they permit party prejudices and party antagonisms to absorb their better natures. The leaders want power. All men crave it. Few, comparatively, expect to attain high position, but each hopes to be benefited within a certain circle which limits, perhaps, his present ambition. There is fatuity in nominating a general and warrior in time of war on a peace platform.

SOURCE: Gideon Welles, Diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy Under Lincoln and Johnson, Vol. 2: April 1, 1864 — December 31, 1866, p. 135-6

Diary of Gideon Welles: Monday, September 5, 1864

Mr. Blair returned this morning from Concord. He had, I have little doubt, been sent for, partly to see and influence me. I am not sufficiently ductile for Mr. Raymond, Chairman of the National Executive Committee, who desires to make each navy yard a party machine. The party politicians of King's County wish to make the Brooklyn Navy Yard control their county and State elections, and this not by argument, persuasion, conviction, personal effort on their part, but by the arbitrary and despotic exercise of power on the part of the Secretary of the Navy. I told Blair I could not be instrumental in any such abuse, and read to him Admiral Paulding's letter. I should have read it to Raymond, had he possessed the manliness to call on me. But he says I am unapproachable, a wall that he cannot penetrate or get over. E. B. Washburne is in this business; so are Usher and others. They want me to do a mean thing, and think it would benefit the party, — a most egregious error, were I so weak as to listen to them. The wrong which they would perpetrate would never make a single convert, control a single vote, but it would create enmities, intensify hatred, increase opposition. They would remove any man who is not openly with us and of our party organization, would employ no doubtful or lukewarm men in the yard, whatever may be their qualifications or ability in their trade. But removing them would not get us their vote, and instead of being lukewarm or doubtful they would be active electioneers against us, exciting sympathy for themselves and hatred towards the Administration for its persecution of mechanics and laborers for independent opinions.

Blair like a man of sense, has a right appreciation of things, as Paulding's letter satisfied him. Whether it will Raymond and Washburne is another question, about which I care not two straws; only for their importuning the President, would not give the old Whig Party a moment's attention. His good sense and sagacity are against such exercise or abuse of power and patronage, as I heard him once remark. It is an extreme of partyism such as is practiced in New York.

Blair informed me that Simeon Draper is appointed Collector of New York, and the evening papers confirm the fact. I also learn from Blair that Chase opposed the appointment of Preston King, saying he was not possessed of sufficient ability for the place. Gracious heaven! A man who, if in a legal point of view not the equal, is the superior of Chase in administrative ability, better qualified in some respects to fill any administrative position in the government than Mr. Chase! And in saying this I do not mean to deny intellectual talents and attainments to the Secretary of the Treasury. Mr. Fessenden also excepted to King, but not for the reasons assigned by Mr. Chase. It is because Mr. King is too obstinate! He is, indeed, immovable in maintaining what he believes to be right, but open always to argument and conviction. If the opposition of Fessenden is not dictated by Chase, he has fallen greatly in my estimation, and I am in any event prepared to see the Treasury Department fall away under such management. The selection of Sim Draper with his vicious party antecedents is abominable. I am told, however, that prominent merchants advised it. This shows how little attention should be paid in such matters to those who traffic. I have no confidence in Draper. I look upon him as corrupt, and his appointment will beget distrust in the Administration. I so expressed myself to Mr. Blair, although he had acquiesced in the selection, — not from choice, but to prevent the place from being conferred upon another.

SOURCE: Gideon Welles, Diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy Under Lincoln and Johnson, Vol. 2: April 1, 1864 — December 31, 1866, p. 136-8

Saturday, March 13, 2021

Diary of Gideon Welles: Tuesday, September 13, 1864

 Had an interesting half-hour talk with J. M. Forbes, a sensible man and true patriot. He wishes the President to make the issue before the country distinctly perceptible to all as democratic and aristocratic. The whole object and purpose of the leaders in the Rebellion is the establishment of an aristocracy, although not distinctly avowed. Were it avowed, they would have few followers. Mr. Forbes wishes me to urge this subject upon the President. It is not in my nature to obtrude my opinions upon others. Perhaps I err in the other extreme. In the course of the conversation he related a violent and strange assault that was made upon him by Mr. Seward some time since, in the railroad cars or on the platform at a stopping-place, denouncing him for trying to postpone the nominating convention. Mr. Blair, in walking over with me, took the opportunity of stating his conviction that there was a deep intrigue going forward on the part of the "little villain” using Greeley's epithet to Raymond – to effect a change of Cabinet next March. The grumbling and the complaint about the employés in the Navy Yards meant more than was expressed. It is to gradually work upon the President and get him, if possible, dissatisfied with me and with the administration of the Navy Department. I doubt if this is so and yet should not be at all surprised to find Blair to be right in his conjectures. I know that the managers are very much dissatisfied because I do not make the yards bitterly partisan, and permit levies for money to be made on the workmen for party purposes. This is particularly the case at the Brooklyn yard. Raymond has in party matters neither honesty nor principle himself, and believes that no one else has. He would compel men to vote, and would buy up leaders. Money and office, not argument and reason, are the means which he would use. This fellow, trained in the vicious New York school of politics, is Chairman of the Republican National Committee; is spending much of his time in Washington, working upon the President secretly, trying to poison his mind and induce him to take steps that would forever injure him. Weed, worse than Seward, is Raymond's prompter, and the debaucher of New York politics.

SOURCE: Gideon Welles, Diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy Under Lincoln and Johnson, Vol. 2: April 1, 1864 — December 31, 1866, p. 141-2

Thursday, February 11, 2021

Diary of Gideon Welles: Thursday, August 25, 1864

Most of the vessels sent out in pursuit of the Tallahassee have returned, and with scarcely an exception the commanders have proved themselves feeble and inefficient. Imputations of drunkenness and of disloyalty or of Rebel sympathy are made against some of them. As usual, there may be exaggerations, but there is some truth in some of the reports.

Calling on the President near eleven o'clock, I went in as usual unannounced, the waiter throwing open the door as I approached. I found Messrs. Seward, Fessenden, and Stanton with Raymond, Chairman of the Executive National Committee, in consultation with the President. The President was making some statement as to a document of his, and said he supposed his style was peculiar and had its earmarks, so that it could not be mistaken. He kept on talking as if there had been no addition to the company, and as if I had been expected and belonged there. But the topic was not pursued by the others when the President ceased. Some inquiry was put to me in regard to intelligence from the fleet at Mobile and the pursuit of the Tallahassee. Mr. Fessenden rose and, putting his mouth to the ear of the President, began to whisper, and as soon as I could answer the brief inquiries, I left the room.

It was easy to perceive that Seward, Stanton, and Raymond were disconcerted by my appearance. Except the whispering by Fessenden I saw nothing particular on his part. It appeared to me he was being trained into a process. Stanton, with whom he seems to have a sort of sympathy, is evidently used as an intermediate by Seward to make them (Seward and Fessenden) friends, and this gathering I could easily read and understand, although it may be difficult to describe the manner, etc., which made it clear to me.

The Democrats hold a party nominating convention next Monday at Chicago, which is naturally attracting a good deal of attention. There is a palpable effort to give éclat, and spread abroad a factitious power for this assemblage in advance. To this the Administration journals, and particularly those of New York, have conduced. I do not think that anything serious is to be apprehended from that convention, if Seward can keep quiet; but his management, which is mismanagement, and his shrewdness, which is frequently untowardness, will ever endanger a cause.

I hear little of Chase, though I doubt not that his aspirations are unextinguished. That he is disappointed because his retirement made so little sensation and has been so readily acquiesced in, I have no doubt. I have heard that he had written a friend here to the effect that it was expedient, under the circumstances, to support Lincoln, although he had many dislikes to the man and his policy. But I am assured he has an expectation, sometimes amounting to confidence, that Frémont will ultimately be withdrawn and that there will then be union and harmony. I can believe most of this. Chase has a good deal of intellect, knows the path where duty points, and in his calmer moments, resolves to pursue it. But, with a mind of considerable resources, he has great weaknesses in craving aspiration which constantly impair his strength. He has inordinate ambition, intense selfishness for official distinction and power to do for the country, and considerable vanity. These traits impair his moral courage; they make him a sycophant with the truly great, and sometimes arrogant towards the humble. The society of the former he courts, for he has mental culture and appreciation, but his political surroundings are the mean, the abject, the adulators and cormorants who pander to his weaknesses. That he is irresolute and wavering, his instinctive sagacity prompting him rightly, but his selfish and vain ambition turning him to error, is unquestionably true. I have little doubt, however, that he will, eventually, when satisfied that his own personal aspirations are not to be gratified, support the reelection of the President. Am not certain it is not already so arranged.

SOURCE: Gideon Welles, Diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy Under Lincoln and Johnson, Vol. 2: April 1, 1864 — December 31, 1866, p. 119-21

Diary of Gideon Welles: Saturday, August 27, 1864

Much party machinery is just at this time in motion. No small portion of it is a prostitution and abuse. The Whig element is venal and corrupt, to a great extent. I speak of the leaders of that party now associated with Republicans. They seem to have very little political principle; they have no belief in public virtue or popular intelligence; they have no self-reliance, no confidence in the strength of a righteous cause, little regard for constitutional restraint and limitations. Their politics and their ideas of government consist of expedients, and cunning management with the intelligent, and coercion and subornation of the less informed.

Mr. Wakeman, the postmaster at New York, with whom I am on very good terms, — for he is affable, insinuating, and pleasant, though not profound nor reliable, - a New York politician, has called upon me several times in relation to the Brooklyn Navy Yard. He is sent by Raymond, by Humphrey, by Campbell and others, and I presume Seward and Weed have also been cognizant of and advising in the matter. Raymond is shy of me. He evidently is convinced that we should not harmonize. Wakeman believes that all is fair and proper in party operations which can secure by any means certain success, and supposes that every one else is the same. Raymond knows that there are men of a different opinion, but considers them slow, incumbrances, stubborn and stupid, who cannot understand and will not be managed by the really ready and sharp fellows like himself who have resources to accomplish almost anything. Wakeman has been prompted and put forward to deal with me. He says we must have the whole power and influence of the government this coming fall, and if each Department will put forth its whole strength and energy in our favor we shall be successful. He had just called on Mr. Stanton at the request of our friends, and all was satisfactorily arranged with him. Had seen Mr. Fessenden and was to have another interview, and things were working well at the Treasury. Now, the Navy Department was quite as important as either, and he, a Connecticut man, had been requested to see me. There were things in the Navy Yard to be corrected, or our friends would not be satisfied, and the election in New York and the country might by remissness be endangered. This must be prevented, and he knew I would use all the means at my disposal to prevent it. He then read from a paper what he wanted should be done. It was a transcript of a document that had been sent me by Seward as coming from Raymond, for the management of the yard, and he complained of some proceedings that had given offense. Mr. Halleck, one of the masters, had gathered two or three hundred workmen together, and was organizing them with a view to raise funds and get them on the right track, but Admiral Paulding had interfered, broken up the meetings, and prohibited them from assembling in the Navy Yard in future.

I told him I approved of Paulding's course; that there ought to be no gathering of workmen in working hours and while under government pay for party schemes; and there must be no such gatherings within the limits of the yard at any time. That I would not do an act myself that I would condemn in an opponent. That such gatherings in the government yard were not right, and what was not right I could not do.

He was a little staggered by my words or manner, or both; insisted we could not succeed without doing these things, that other parties had done them, and we must; but he had full confidence I would do right and should tell them so when he returned.

Neither Wakeman nor those who sent him are aware that the course which he would pursue would and ought to destroy any party. No administration could justify and sustain itself that would misuse power and the public means as they propose. Such action would sooner or later destroy the government. Their measures would not stand the test of investigation, and would be condemned by the public judgment, if healthy. They are not republican but imperial.

SOURCE: Gideon Welles, Diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy Under Lincoln and Johnson, Vol. 2: April 1, 1864 — December 31, 1866, p. 122-4 

Sunday, December 13, 2020

Diary of Gideon Welles: Saturday, August 13, 1864

Had some talk with Senator Lot Morrill, who is a good deal excited, not to say alarmed. The slow progress of our armies, the mismanagement of military affairs exemplified in the recent raids, the factious and discontented spirit manifested by Wade, Winter Davis, and others, have generated a feeling of despondency in which he participates. Others express to me similar feelings.

There is no doubt a wide discouragement prevails, from the causes adverted to, and others which have contributed. A want of homogeneity exists among the old Whigs, who are distrustful and complaining. It is much more natural for them to denounce than to approve, — to pull down than to build up. Their leaders and their followers, to a considerable extent, have little confidence in themselves or their cause, and hence it is a ceaseless labor with them to assail the Administration of which they are professed supporters.

The worst specimens of these wretched politicians are in New York City and State, though they are to be found everywhere. There is not an honest, fair-dealing Administration journal in New York City. A majority of them profess to be Administration, and yet it is without sincerity. The New York Herald with a deservedly bad name, gives tone and direction to the New York press, particularly those of Whig antecedents and which profess to support the Administration. It is not, of course, acknowledged by them, nor are they conscious of the leadership, but it is nevertheless obvious and clear. When the Herald has in view to defame or put a mark upon a man, it commences and persists in its course against him. He may be the friend of the Tribune and Times. Of course, they do not at first assent to what is said by the Herald. Sometimes they will make a defense, — perhaps an earnest and strong one, but the Herald does not regard it and goes on attacking, ridiculing, abusing, and defaming. Gradually one of the journals gives way, echoes slightly the slanders of the Herald, and having once commenced, it follows up the work. The other journals, when things have proceeded to that length, also acquiesce. This is a truthful statement of the standing and course and conduct of the papers I have named.

The Times is a stipendiary sheet; its principal editor, Raymond, mercenary, possessing talent but a subservient follower of Weed and Seward. At present, the paper being in the hands of Thurlow Weed and sic, it will not for the campaign openly attack the President, who is the candidate. But it will, under the lead of the Herald, attack any and every member of the Cabinet but Seward, unless Seward through Weed restrains him.

The Tribune is owned by a company which really desired to give a fair support to the Administration, but Greeley, the editor, is erratic, unreliable, without stability, an enemy of the Administration because he hates Seward, a creature of sentiment or impulse, not of reason nor professed principle. Having gone to extremes in the measures that fermented and brought on this war, he would now go to extremes to quell it. I am prepared to see him acquiesce in a division of the Union, or the continuance of slavery, to accomplish his personal party schemes. There are no men or measures to which he will adhere faithfully. He is ambitious, talented, but not considerate, persistent, or profound.

The Evening Post is a journal of a different description and still retains some of its former character for ability and sense. Bryant, I am inclined to believe, means well, and of himself would do well. But he is getting on in years, and his son-in-law Godwin attempts to wield the political bludgeon. In him the mercenary and unscrupulous partisan is apparent. I was compelled to expose Henderson, the publisher, for malfeasance, and the commission before whom he was arraigned held him to bail for embezzlement. The Post blackguarded the witness, and Godwin said that if the Navy Department could afford to do without the Evening Post, the Evening Post could afford to do without the Navy Department. This Colonel Olcott tells me Godwin said to Wilson, the attorney for the Department.

These are the Administration journals in the city of New York. Thurlow Weed has control of the Evening Journal of Albany and to a considerable extent of the press of the State of Whig antecedents. He is sagacious, unscrupulous, has ability and great courage, with little honest principle, is fertile in resources, a keen party tactician, but cannot win respect and confidence, for he does not deserve them. For some time past he has been ingratiating himself with the Copperhead journals and leaders, and by his skill has made fools of their editors, but I apprehend has not fooled their leading managers. He evidently believes, not without reason, he is using them; they know they are using him; to some extent each may deceive the other. There is a feigned difference between him and Seward, or there has been, but no one is misled by it. Weed is indispensable to Seward and the master mind of the two. This is as well known to the Copperhead leaders as to any persons. Re cently Weed has been here and has had interviews with the President, to what purpose, whether of his own volition or by invitation, I have never inquired. I have noticed that Seward endeavors to impress on the President the value of Weed's opinion, especially in party matters.

SOURCE: Gideon Welles, Diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy Under Lincoln and Johnson, Vol. 2: April 1, 1864 — December 31, 1866, p. 102-5

Diary of Gideon Welles: Wednesday, August 17, 1864

 I wrote a letter to the Secretary of State, softly pointing out the proper course of proceeding in this French claim for captured cotton, for I should be sorry to have him let down himself and the Government. But I know not how, having taken charge of this claim, he will receive it. I think, however, he will show his shrewdness and tact and take the hint, if he has not committed himself, as he often does, without being aware of the effect.

Had quite a talk to-day with Mr. Lenthall, Naval Constructor, on the subject of the light-draft monitors and his duties generally. He claims to know but little about them. I told him this would not answer, that I should hold him responsible for what pertained to his bureau; that it was his duty to criticize, and let me know what, in his opinion was wrong; that it was his duty to know, and he must not plead ignorance to me; that on important matters I did not want his views second-handed, but he must come to me direct. From what I could learn in relation to the light-draft vessels, I had come to the conclusion that, while I had trusted to him, he had mere superficial conversations with Mr. Fox, without seeing or advising with me, and I apprehended Fox and Stimers had been going on without consulting others, with confident belief they would give us very superior vessels, until they awoke to the fact that they were not Naval Constructors or the men to do this work, except under the advice and direction of experts. I had supposed until last spring that Lenthall and Ericsson were giving the light ironclads their attention, but I found they were not, and I had not been advised of the fact. My plain talk seemed to astonish, and yet not altogether displease Lenthall. He said he had no doubt Mr. Fox and Mr. Stimers had committed the great mistake I alluded to. They thought after submitting their plans to him, without, however, procuring from him any computations, but an expression, that struck him more favorably than Ericsson that they could show off something for themselves that would give them a name.

Fred Seward called on me with a letter from Raymond to his father inquiring whether anything had been effected at the navy yard and custom-house, stating the elections were approaching, means were wanted, Indiana was just now calling most urgently for pecuniary aid. I told Seward that I knew not what the navy yard had to do with all this, except that there had been an attempt to levy an assessment on all workmen, as I understood, when receiving their monthly pay of the paymaster, by a party committee who stationed themselves near his desk in the yard and attempted the exaction; that I was informed Commodore Paulding forbade the practice, and I certainly had no censure to bestow on him for the interdiction. If men choose to contribute at their homes, or out of the yards, I had no idea that he would object, but if he did and I could know the fact, I would see such interference promptly corrected; but I could not consent to forced party contributions. Seward seemed to consider this view correct and left.

I am sadly oppressed with the aspect of things. Have just read the account of the interview at Richmond between Jaquess and Gilmore on one side and Jeff Davis and Benjamin on the other.1 What business had these fellows with such a subject? Davis asserts an ultimatum that is inadmissible, and the President in his note, which appears to me not as considerate and well-advised as it should have been, interposes barriers that were unnecessary. Why should we impose conditions, and conditions which would provoke strife from the very nature of things, for they conflict with constitutional reserved rights? If the Rebellion is suppressed in Tennessee or North Carolina, and the States and people desire to resume their original constitutional rights, shall the President prevent them? Yet the letters to Greeley have that bearing, and I think them unfortunate in this respect.

They place the President, moreover, at disadvantage in the coming election. He is committed, it will be claimed, against peace, except on terms that are inadmissible. What necessity was there for this, and, really, what right had the President to assume this unfortunate attitude without consulting his Cabinet, at least, or others? He did, he says, advise with Seward, and Fessenden, who came in accidentally, also gave it his sanction. Now Seward is a trickster more than a statesman. He has wanted to get an advantage over Horace Greeley, and when the President said to Greeley, therefore, that no terms which did not include the abolition of slavery as one of the conditions (would be admissible), a string in Greeley's harp was broken. But how it was to affect the Union and the great ends of peace seems not to have been considered. The Cabinet were not consulted, except the two men as named, one, if not both, uninvited, nor as regarded Jaquess and Gilmore in their expedition. It will be said that the President does not refuse other conditions, and that he only said “to whom it may concern” he would make peace with those conditions, but that he does not refuse different and modified conditions to others. (It was undoubtedly an adroit party movement on the part of the President that rebuked and embarrassed Greeley and defeated a wily intrigue.) But, after all, I should, even with this interpretation, wish the President not to be mixed up with such a set, and not to have this ambiguity, to say the least. Most of the world will receive it as a distinct ultimatum.
_______________ 

1 An account of the interview of Colonel James F. Jaquess and Mr. James R. Gilmore with the President of the Confederacy and his Secretary of State, written by Mr. Gilmore, appeared in the Atlantic Monthly for September, 1864.

SOURCE: Gideon Welles, Diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy Under Lincoln and Johnson, Vol. 2: April 1, 1864 — December 31, 1866, p. 107-10

Diary of Gideon Welles: Friday, August 19, 1864

Much pressed with duties. A pleasant hour at the Cabinet, but no special subject. Fessenden still absent. Stanton did not attend. Blair inquired about the Niagara peace correspondence. The President went over the particulars. Had sent the whole correspondence to Greeley for publication, excepting one or two passages in Greeley's letters which spoke of a bankrupted country and awful calamities. But Greeley replied he would not consent to any suppression of his letters or any part of them; and the President remarked that, though G. had put him (the President) in a false attitude, he thought it better he should bear it, than that the country should be distressed by such a howl, from such a person, on such an occasion. Concerning Greeley, to whom the President has clung too long and confidingly, he said to-day that Greeley is an old shoe, good for nothing now, whatever he has been. "In early life, and with few mechanics and but little means in the West, we used,” said he, “to make our shoes last a great while with much mending, and sometimes, when far gone, we found the leather so rotten the stitches would not hold. Greeley is so rotten that nothing can be done with him. He is not truthful; the stitches all tear out."

Both Blair and myself concurred in regret that the President should consult only Seward in so important a matter, and that he should dabble with Greeley, Saunders, and company. But Blair expresses to me confidence that the President is approaching the period when he will cast off Seward as he has done Chase. I doubt it. That he may relieve himself of Stanton is possible, though I see as yet no evidence of it. To me it is clear that the two S.'s have an understanding, and yet I think each is wary of the other while there is a common purpose to influence the President. The President listens and often defers to Seward, who is ever present and companionable. Stanton makes himself convenient, and is not only tolerated but, it appears to me, is really liked as a convenience.

Seward said to-day that Mr. Raymond, Chairman of the National Executive Committee, had spoken to him concerning the Treasury, the War, the Navy, and the Post-Office Departments connected with the approaching election; that he had said to Mr. Raymond that he had better reduce his ideas to writing, and he had sent him certain papers; but that he, Seward, had told him it would be better, or that he thought it would be better, to call in some other person, and he had therefore sent for Governor Morgan, who would be here, he presumed, on Monday. All which means an assessment is to be laid on certain officials and employees of the government for party purposes. Likely the scheme will not be as successful as anticipated, for the depreciation of money has been such that neither can afford to contribute. Good clerks are somewhat indifferent about remaining, and so with mechanics. I cannot, for one, consent to be an instrument in this business, and I think they must go elsewhere for funds. To a great extent the money so raised is misused, misapplied, and perverted and prostituted. A set of harpies and adventurers pocket a large portion of the money extorted. It is wanted now for Indiana, a State which has hosts of corrupt and mischievous political partisans who take to themselves large pay for professed party services without contributing anything themselves.

SOURCE: Gideon Welles, Diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy Under Lincoln and Johnson, Vol. 2: April 1, 1864 — December 31, 1866, p. 111-3

Sunday, May 17, 2020

Thurlow Weed to William H. Seward, August 22, 1864

New-York, Aug 22
Dear Seward,

When, ten or eleven days since, I told Mr Lincoln that his re-election was an impossibity, I also told him that the information would soon come to him through other channels. It has doubtless, ere this, reached him. At any rate, nobody here doubts it; nor do I see any body from other States who authorises the slightest hope of success.

Mr Raymond, who has, just left me, says that unless some prompt and bold step be now taken, all is lost.

The People are wild for Peace. They are told that the President will only listen to terms of Peace on condition Slavery be “abandoned.”

Mr Sweatt is well informed in relation to the public sentiment. He has seen and heard much. Mr Raymond thinks Commissioners should be immediately sent to Richmond, offering to treat for Peace on the basis of Union. That something should be done and promptly done, to give the Administration a chance for its life, is certain.

Truly
T. W.

SOURCE: Lincoln, Abraham. Abraham Lincoln papers: Series 1. General Correspondence. 1833 to 1916: Thurlow Weed to William H. Seward,Lincoln will not be reelected. 1864. Manuscript/Mixed Material. https://www.loc.gov/item/mal3549000/.

Abraham Lincoln to Henry J. Raymond, August 24, 1864 (Draft)

Executive Mansion.               
Washington, August 24. 1864.
Sir:

You will proceed forthwith and obtain, if possible, a conference for peace with Hon. Jefferson Davis, or any person by him authorized for that purpose—

You will address him in entirely respectful terms, at all events, and in any that may be indispensable to securing secure the conference—

At said conference you will propose, on behalf of this government, that upon the restoration of the Union and the national authority, the war shall cease at once, all remaing remaining questions to be left for adjustment by peaceful modes— If this be accepted hostilities to cease at once—

If it be not accepted, you will then request to be informed what terms, if any embracing the restoration of the Union, would be accepted— If any such be presented you in answer, you will forthwith report the same to this government, and await further instructions.

If the presentation of any terms embracing the restoration of the Union be declined, you will then request to be informed what terms of peace would, be accepted; and on receving any answer, report the same to this government, and await further instructions.

[Endorsed on Envelope by Lincoln:]

H. J. Raymond — about peace.

SOURCE: Lincoln, Abraham. Abraham Lincoln papers: Series 1. General Correspondence. 1833 to 1916: Abraham Lincoln to Henry J. Raymond, Wednesday,Peace negotiations. 1864. Manuscript/Mixed Material. https://www.loc.gov/item/mal3552300/.

Henry J. Raymond to Abraham Lincoln, August 22, 1864

ROOMS OF THE NATIONAL UNION
EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE.

Astor House, New York, Aug 22 1864.
My dear Sir:—

I feel compelled to drop you a line concerning the political condition of the Country as it strikes me. I am in active correspondence with your staunchest friends in every State and from them all I hear but one report. The tide is strongly against us. Hon. E. B. Washburne writes that “were an election to be held now in Illinois we should be beaten”. Mr. Cameron writes that Pennsylvania is against us. Gov. Morton writes that nothing but the most strenous efforts can carry Indiana. This State, according to the best information I can get, would go 50.000 against us to-morrow. And so of the rest.

Nothing but the most resolute and decided action, on the part of the Government and its friends, can save the country from falling into hostile hands.

Two special causes are assigned for this great reaction in public sentiment, — the want of military successes, and the impression in some minds, the fear and suspicion in others, that we are not to have peace in any event under this Administration until Slavery is abandoned. In some way or other the suspicion is widely diffused that we can have peace with Union if we would. It is idle to reason with this belief — still more idle to denounce it. It can only be expelled by some authoritative act, at once bold enough to fix attention and distinct enough to defy incredulity & challenge respect.

Why would it not be wise, under these circumstances, to appoint a Commission, in due form, to make distinct proffers of peace to Davis, as the head of the rebel armies, on the sole condition of acknowledging the supremacy of the Constitution, — all other questions to be settled in convention of the people of all the States? The making of such an offer would require no armistice, no suspension of active war, no abandonment of positions, no sacrifice of consistency.

If the proffer were accepted (which I presume it would not be,) the country would never consent to place the practical execution of its details in any but loyal hands, and in those we should be safe.

If it should be rejected, (as it would be,) it would plant seeds of disaffection in the South, dispel all the peace delusions about peace that previal in the North, silence the clamorous & damaging falsehoods of the opposition, take the wind completely out of the sails of the Chicago craft, reconcile public sentiment to the War, the draft, & the tax as inevitable necessities, and unite the North as nothing since firing on Fort Sumter has hitherto done.

I cannot conceive of any answer which Davis could give to such a proposition which would not strengthen you & the Union cause everywhere. Even your radical friends could not fail to applaud it when they should see the practical strength it would bring to the Union common cause.

I beg you to excuse the earnestness with which I have pressed this matter upon your attention. It seems to me calculated to do good — & incapable of doing harm. It will turn the tide of public sentiment & avert impending evils of the gravest character. It will raise & concentrate the loyalty of the country &, unless I am greatly mistaken, give us an early & a fruitful victory.

Permit me to add that if done at all I think this should be done at once, — as your own spontaneous act. In advance of the Chicago Convention it might render the action of that body, of very little consequence.

I have canvassed this subject very fully with Mr. Swett of Illinois who first suggested it to me & who will seek an opportunity to converse with you upon it.

I am, very respectfully,
Your ob't Serv't
Henry J. Raymond

SOURCE: Abraham Lincoln Papers in the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.: Lincoln, Abraham. Abraham Lincoln papers: Series 1. General Correspondence. 1833 to 1916: Henry J. Raymond to Abraham Lincoln, Monday,Political affairs. 1864. Manuscript/Mixed Material. https://www.loc.gov/item/mal3547800/.

John G. Nicolay to Therena Bates, August 28, 1864

Washington, 28 August 1864

. . . I have been rather expecting to make another visit to the West in September, but it is rendered somewhat doubtful by the present rush of affairs.  I think Hay will be back by the middle of September, but it may take both of us to keep the office under proper headway.

I wrote to you that the Republican party was laboring under a severe fit of despondency and discouragement.  During the past week it reached almost the condition of a disastrous panic—a sort of political Bull Run—but I think it has been reached its culmination and will speedily have a healthy and vigorous reaction.  It even went so far as that Raymond, the Chairman of the National Executive Committee wrote a most doleful letter here to the President summing up the various discouraging signs he saw in the country, and giving it as his deliberate opinion that unless something was done, (and he thought that “something” should be the sending Commissioners to Richmond to propose terms of peace to the Rebels, on the basis of their returning to the Union) that we might as well quit and give up the contest.  In this mood he came here to Washington three or four days ago to attend a meeting of the Executive Committee of the National Committee.  The President and the strongest half of the Cabinet—Seward, Stanton and Fessenden, held a consultation with him, and showed him that they already thoroughly considered and discussed his proposition; and upon showing him their reasons, he very readily concurred with them in the opinion that to follow his plan of sending commissioners to Richmond, would be worse than losing the Presidential contest—it would be ignominiously surrendering in advance.

Nevertheless the visit of himself and committee here did very great good.  They found the President and Cabinet wide awake to all the necessities of the situation, and went home much encourage and cheered up.  I think that immediately upon the nominations being made at Chicago (it seems now as if McClellan would undoubtedly be the nominee) the whole Republican Party throughout the country will wake up, begin a spirited campaign and win the election.

SOURCE: Michael Burlingame, Editor, With Lincoln in the White House: Letters, Memoranda, and Other Writings of John G. Nicolay, p. 153-4

Wednesday, December 4, 2019

Diary of William Howard Russell: July 21, 1861

Punctual to time, our carriage appeared at the door, with a spare horse, followed by the black quadruped on which the negro boy sat with difficulty, in consequence of its high spirits and excessively hard mouth. I swallowed a cup of tea and a morsel of bread, put the remainder of the tea into a bottle, got a flask of light Bordeaux, a bottle of water, a paper of sandwiches, and having replenished my small flask with brandy, stowed them all away in the bottom of the gig; but my friend, who is not accustomed to rise very early in the morning, did not make his appearance, and I was obliged to send several times to the Legation to quicken his movements. Each time I was assured he would be over presently; but it was not till two hours had elapsed, and when I had just resolved to leave him behind, that he appeared in person, quite unprovided with viaticum, so that my slender store had now to meet demands of two instead of one. We are off at last. The amicus and self find contracted space behind the driver. The negro boy, grinning half with pain and u the balance with pleasure, as the Americans say, held on his rampant charger, which made continual efforts to leap into the gig, and thus through the deserted city we proceeded towards the Long Bridge, where a sentry examined our papers, and said with a grin, You'll find plenty of congressmen on before you.” And then our driver whipped his horses through the embankment of Fort Runyon, and dashed off along a country road, much cut up with gun and cart-wheels, towards the main turnpike.

The promise of a lovely day, given by the early dawn, was likely to be realized to the fullest, and the placid beauty of the scenery as we drove through the woods below Arlington, and beheld the white buildings shining in the early sunlight, and the Potomac, like a broad silver ribbon dividing the picture breathed of peace. The silence close to the city was unbroken. From the time we passed the guard beyond the Long Bridge, for several miles, we did not meet a human being, except a few soldiers in the neighborhood of the deserted camps, and when we passed beyond the range of tents we drove for nearly two hours through a densely-wooded, undulating country; the houses, close to the roadside, shut up and deserted, window-high in the crops of Indian corn, fast ripening for the sickle; alternate field and forest, the latter generally still holding possession of the hollows, and, except when the road, deep and filled with loose stones, passed over the summit of the ridges, the eye caught on either side little but fir-trees and maize, and the deserted wooden houses, standing amidst the slave-quarters.

The residences close to the lines gave signs and tokens that the Federals had recently visited them. But at the best of times the inhabitants could not be very well off. Some of the farms were small, the houses tumbling to decay, with unpainted roofs and sidewalls, and windows where the want of glass was supplemented by panes of wood. As we get farther into the country the traces of the debatable land between the two armies vanished, and negroes looked out from their quarters, or sickly-looking women and children were summoned forth by the rattle of the wheels to see who was hurrying to the war. Now and then a white man looked out, with an ugly scowl on his face, but the country seemed drained of the adult male population, and such of the inhabitants as we saw were neither as comfortably dressed nor as healthy-looking as the shambling slaves who shuffled about the plantations. The road was so cut up by gun-wheels, ammunition and commissariat wagons, that our horses made but slow way against the continual draft upon the collar; but at last the driver, who had known the country in happier times, announced that we had entered the high-road for Fairfax Court House. Unfortunately my watch had gone down, but I guessed it was then a little before nine o'clock. In a few minutes afterwards I thought I heard, through the eternal clatter and jingle of the old gig, a sound which made me call the driver to stop. He pulled up, and we listened. In a minute or so, the well-known boom of a gun, followed by two or three in rapid succession, but at a considerable distance, reached my ear. “Did you hear that?” The driver heard nothing, nor did my companion, but the black boy on the led-horse, with eyes starting out of his head, cried, “I hear them, massa; I hear them, sure enough, like de gun in de navy yard;” and as he spoke the thudding noise, like taps with a gentle hand upon a muffled drum, were repeated, which were heard both by Mr. Warre and the driver. “They are at it! We shall be late! Drive on as fast as you can!” We rattled on still faster, and presently came up to a farmhouse, where a man and woman, with some negroes beside them, were standing out by the hedgerow above us, looking up the road in the direction of a cloud of dust, which we could see rising above the tops of the trees. We halted for a moment. “How long have the guns been going, sir?” “Well, ever since early this morning,” said he; “they've been having a fight. And I do really believe some of our poor Union chaps have had enough of it already. For here's some of them darned Secessionists marching down to go into Alexandery.” The driver did not seem altogether content with this explanation of the dust in front of us, and presently, when a turn of the road brought to view a body of armed men, stretching to an interminable distance, with bayonets glittering in the sunlight through the clouds of dust, seemed inclined to halt or turn back again. A nearer approach satisfied me they were friends, and as soon as we came up with the head of the column I saw that they could not be engaged in the performance of any military duty. The men were marching without any resemblance of order, in twos and threes or larger troops. Some without arms, carrying great bundles on their backs; others with their coats hung from their firelocks; many footsore. They were all talking, and in haste; many plodding along laughing, so I concluded that they could not belong to a defeated army, and imagined McDowell was effecting some flank movement. “Where are you going to, may I ask?”

“If this is the road to Alexandria, we are going there.”

“There is an action going on in front, is there not?”

“Well, so we believe, but we have not been fighting.”

Although they were in such good spirits, they were not communicative, and we resumed our journey, impeded by the straggling troops and by the country cars containing their baggage and chairs, and tables and domestic furniture, which had never belonged to a regiment in the field. Still they came pouring on. I ordered, the driver to stop at a rivulet, where a number of men were seated in the shade, drinking the water and bathing their hands and feet. On getting out I asked an officer, “May I beg to know, sir, where your regiment is going to?” “Well, I reckon, sir, we are going home to Pennsylvania.” “This is the 4th Pennsylvania Regiment, is it not, sir?” “It is so, sir; that's the fact.” “I should think there is severe fighting going on behind you, judging from the firing?” (for every moment the sound of the cannon had been growing more distinct and more heavy). “Well, I reckon, sir, there is.” I paused for a moment, not knowing what to say, and yet anxious for an explanation; and the epauletted gentleman, after a few seconds' awkward hesitation, added, “We are going home because, as you see, the men's time's up, sir. We have had three months of this sort of work, and that's quite enough of it.” The men who were listening to the conversation expressed their assent to the noble and patriotic utterances of the centurion, and, making him a low bow, we resumed our journey.

It was fully three and a half miles before the last of the regiment passed, and then the road presented a more animated scene, for white-covered commissariat wagons were visible, wending towards the front, and one or two hack carriages, laden with civilians, were hastening in the same direction. Before the doors of the wooden farm-houses the colored people were assembled, listening with outstretched necks to the repeated reports of the guns. At one time, as we were descending the wooded road, a huge blue dome, agitated by some internal convulsion, appeared to bar our progress, and it was only after infinite persuasion of rein and whip that the horses approached the terrific object, which was an inflated balloon, attached to a wagon, and defying the efforts of the men in charge to jockey it safely through the trees.

It must have been about eleven o'clock when we came to the first traces of the Confederate camp, in front of Fairfax Court House, where they had cut a few trenches and levelled the trees across the road, so as to form a rude abattis; but the works were of a most superficial character, and would scarcely have given cover either to the guns, for which embrasures were left at the flanks to sweep the road, or to the infantry intended to defend them.

The Confederate force stationed here must have consisted, to a considerable extent, of cavalry. The bowers of branches, which, they had made to shelter their tents, camp-tables, empty boxes, and packing-cases, in the debris one usually sees around an encampment, showed they had not been destitute of creature comforts.

Some time before noon the driver, urged continually by adjurations to get on, whipped his horses into Fairfax Court House, a village which derives its name from a large brick building, in which the sessions of the county are held. Some thirty or forty houses, for the most part detached, with gardens or small strips of land about them, form the main street. The inhabitants who remained had by no means an agreeable expression of countenance, and did not seem on very good terms with the Federal soldiers, who were lounging up and down the streets, or standing in the shade of the trees and doorways. I asked the sergeant of a picket in the street how long the firing had been going on. He replied that it had commenced at half-past seven or eight, and had been increasing ever since. “Some of them will lose their eyes and back teeth,” he added, “before it is over.” The driver, pulling up at a roadside inn in the town, here made the startling announcement, that both he and his horses must have something to eat, and although we would have been happy to join him, seeing that we had no breakfast, we could not afford the time, and were not displeased when a thin-faced, shrewish woman, in black, came out into the veranda, and said she could not let us have anything unless we liked to wait till the regular dinner hour of the house, which was at one o'clock. The horses got a bucket of water, which they needed in that broiling sun; and the cannonade, which by this time had increased into a respectable tumult that gave evidence of a well-sustained action, added vigor to the driver's arm, and in a mile or two more we dashed in to a village of burnt houses, the charred brick chimney stacks standing amidst the blackened embers being all that remained of what once was Germantown. The firing of this village was severely censured by General McDowell, who probably does not appreciate the value of such agencies employed “by our glorious Union army to develop loyal sentiments among the people of Virginia.”

The driver, passing through the town, drove straight on, but after some time I fancied the sound of the guns seemed dying away towards our left. A big negro came shambling along the roadside — the driver stopped and asked him, “is this the road to Centreville?” “Yes, sir; right on, sir; good road to Centreville, massa,” and so we proceeded, till I became satisfied from the appearance of the road that we had altogether left the track of the army. At the first cottage we halted, and inquired of a Virginian, who came out to look at us, whether the road led to Centreville. “You're going to Centreville, are you?” “Yes, by the shortest road we can.” “Well, then — you're going wrong—right away! Some people say there's a bend of road leading through the wood a mile farther on, but those who have tried it lately have come back to Germantown and don't think it leads to Centreville at all.” This was very provoking, as the horses were much fatigued and we had driven several miles out of our way. The driver, who was an Englishman, said, “I think it would be best for us to go on and try the road anyhow. There's not likely to be any Seceshers about there, are there, sir?”

“What did you say, sir,” inquired the Virginian, with a vacant stare upon his face.

“I merely asked whether you think we are likely to meet with any Secessionists if we go along that road?”

“Secessionists!” repeated the Virginian, slowly pronouncing each syllable as if pondering on the meaning of the word — “Secessionists! Oh no, sir; I don't believe there's such a thing as a Secessionist in the whole of this country.”

The boldness of this assertion, in the very hearing of Beauregard's cannon, completely shook the faith of our Jehu in any information from that source, and we retraced our steps to Germantown, and were directed into the proper road by some negroes, who were engaged exchanging Confederate money at very low rates for Federal copper with a few straggling soldiers. The faithful Muley Moloch, who had been capering in our rear so long, now complained that he was very much burned, but on further inquiry it was ascertained he was merely suffering from the abrading of his skin against an English saddle.

In an hour more we had gained the high road to Centreville, on which were many buggies, commissariat carts, and wagons full of civilians, and a brisk canter brought us in sight of a rising ground, over which the road led directly through a few houses on each side, and dipped out of sight, the slopes of the hill being covered with men, carts, and horses, and the summit crested with spectators, with their back turned towards us, and gazing on the valley beyond. “There's Centreville,” says the driver, and on our poor panting horses were forced, passing directly through the Confederate bivouacs, commissariat parks, folds of oxen, and two German regiments, with a battery of artillery, halting on the rising-ground by the road-side. The heat was intense. Our driver complained of hunger and thirst, to which neither I nor my companion were insensible; and so pulling up on the top of the hill, I sent the boy down to the village which we had passed, to see if he could find shelter for the horses, and a morsel for our breakfastless selves.

It was a strange scene before us. From the hill a densely wooded country, dotted at intervals with green fields and cleared lands, spread five or six miles in front, bounded by a line of blue and purple ridges, terminating abruptly in escarpment towards the left front, and swelling gradually towards the right into the lower spines of an offshoot from the Blue Ridge Mountains. On our left the view was circumscribed by a forest which clothed the side of the ridge on which we stood, and covered its shoulder far down into the plain. A gap in the nearest chain of the hills in our front was pointed out by the by-standers as the Pass of Manassas, by which the railway from the West is carried into the plain, and still nearer at hand, before us, is the junction of that rail with the line from Alexandria, and with the railway leading southwards to Richmond. The intervening space was not a deal level; undulating lines of forest, marked the course of the streams which intersected it, and gave, by their variety of color and shading an additional charm to the landscape which, enclosed in a framework of blue and purple hills, softened into violet in the extreme distance, presented one of the most agreeable displays of simple pastoral woodland scenery that could be conceived.

But the sounds which came upon the breeze, and the sights which met our eyes, were in terrible variance with the tranquil character of the landscape. The woods far and near echoed to the roar of cannon, and thin frayed lines of blue smoke marked the spots whence came the muttering sound of rolling musketry; the white puffs of smoke burst high above the tree-tops, and the gunners' rings from shell and howitzer marked the fire of the artillery.

Clouds of dust shifted and moved through the forest; and through the wavering mists of light-blue smoke, and the thicker masses which rose commingling from the feet of men and the mouths of cannon, I could see the gleam of arms and the twinkling of bayonets.

On the hill beside me there was a crowd of civilians on horseback, and in all sorts of vehicles, with a few of the fairer, if not gentler sex. A few officers and some soldiers, who had straggled from the regiments in reserve, moved about among the spectators, and pretended to explain the movements of the troops below, of which they were profoundly ignorant.

The cannonade and musketry had been exaggerated by the distance and by the rolling echoes of the hills; and sweeping the position narrowly with my glass from point to point, I failed to discover any traces of close encounter or very severe fighting. The spectators were all excited, and a lady with an opera-glass who was near me, was quite beside herself when an unusually heavy discharge roused the current of her blood — “That is splendid. Oh, my! Is not that first-rate? I guess we will be in Richmond this time to-morrow.” These, mingled with coarser exclamations, burst from the politicians who had come out to see the triumph of the Union arms. I was particularly irritated by constant applications for the loan of my glass. One broken-down looking soldier observing my flask, asked me for a drink, and took a startling pull, which left but little between the bottom and utter vacuity.

“Stranger, that's good stuff and no mistake. I have not had such a drink since I come South. I feel now as if I’d like to whip ten Seceshers.”

From the line of the smoke it appeared to me that the action was in an oblique line from our left, extending farther outwards towards the right, bisected by a road from Centreville, which descended the hill close at hand and ran right across the undulating plain, its course being marked by the white covers of the baggage and commissariat wagons as far as a turn of the road, where the trees closed in upon them. Beyond the right of the curling smoke clouds of dust appeared from time to time in the distance, as if bodies of cavalry were moving over a sandy plain.

Notwithstanding all the exultation and boastings of the people at Centreville, I was well convinced no advance of any importance or any great success had been achieved, because the ammunition and baggage wagons had never moved, nor had the reserves received any orders to follow in the line of the army.

The clouds of dust on the right were quite inexplicable. As we were looking, my philosophic companion asked me in perfect seriousness, “Are we really seeing a battle now? Are they supposed to be fighting where all that smoke is going on? This is rather interesting, you know.”

Up came our black boy. “Not find a bit to eat, sir, in all the place.” We had, however, my little paper of sandwiches, and descended the hill to a by-lane off the village, where, seated in the shade of the gig, Mr. Warre and myself, dividing our provision with the driver, wound up a very scanty, but much relished, repast with a bottle of tea and half the bottle of Bordeaux and water, the remainder being prudently reserved at my request for contingent remainders. Leaving orders for the saddle-horse, which was eating his first meal, to be brought up the moment he was ready — I went with Mr Warre to the hill once more and observed that the line had not sensibly altered whilst we were away.

An English gentleman, who came up flushed and heated from the plain, told us that the Federals had been advancing steadily, in spite of a stubborn resistance, and had behaved most gallantly.

Loud cheers suddenly burst from the spectators, as a man dressed in the uniform of an officer, whom I had seen riding violently across the plain in an open space below, galloped along the front, waving his cap and shouting at the top of his voice. He was brought up by the press of people round his horse close to where I stood. “We've whipped them on all points,” he cried. “We have taken all their batteries. They are retreating as fast as they can, and we are after, them.” Such cheers as rent the welkin! The congressmen shook hands with each other, and cried out, “Bully for us. Bravo! didn't I tell you so.” The Germans uttered their martial cheers and the Irish hurrahed wildly. At this moment my horse was brought up the hill, and I mounted and turned towards the road to the front, whilst Mr. Warre and his companion proceeded straight down the hill.

By the time I reached the lane, already mentioned, which was in a few minutes, the string of commissariat wagons was moving onwards pretty briskly, and I was detained until my friends appeared at the roadside. I told Mr. Warre I was going forward to the front as fast as I could, but that I would come back, under any circumstances, about an hour before dusk, and would go straight to the spot where we had put up the gig by the road-side, in order to return to Washington. Then getting into the fields, I pressed my horse, which was quite recovered from his twenty-seven miles' ride and full of spirit and mettle, as fast as I could, making detours here and there to get through the ox fences, and by the small streams which cut up the country. The firing did not increase but rather diminished in volume, though it now sounded close at hand.

I had ridden between three and a half and four miles, as well as I could judge, when I was obliged to turn for the third and fourth time into the road by a considerable stream, which was spanned by a bridge, towards which I was threading my way, when my attention was attracted by loud shouts in advance, and I perceived several wagons coming from the direction of the battle-field, the drivers of which were endeavoring to force their horses past the ammunition carts going in the contrary direction near the bridge; a thick cloud of dust rose behind them, and running by the side of the wagons, were a number of men in uniform whom I supposed to be the guard. My first impression was that the wagons were returning for fresh supplies of ammunition. But every moment the crowd increased, drivers and men cried out with the most vehement gestures, “Turn back! Turn back! We are whipped.” They seized the heads of the horses and swore at the opposing drivers. Emerging from the crowd a breathless man in the uniform of an officer with an empty scabbard dangling by his side, was cut off by getting between my horse and a cart for a moment. “What is the matter, sir? What is all this about?” “Why it means we are pretty badly whipped, that's the truth,” and continued.

By this time the confusion had been communicating itself through the line of wagons towards the rear, and the drivers endeavored to turn round their vehicles in the narrow road, which caused the usual amount of imprecations from the men and plunging and kicking from the horses.

The crowd from the front continually increased, the heat, the uproar, and the dust were beyond description, and these were augmented when some cavalry soldiers, flourishing their sabres and preceded by an officer who cried out, “Make way there — make way there for the General,” attempted to force a covered wagon in which was seated a man with a bloody handkerchief round his head through the press.

I had succeeded in getting across the bridge with great difficulty before the wagon came up, and I saw the crowd on the road was still gathering thicker and thicker. Again I asked an officer, who was on foot, with his sword under his arm, “What is all this for?” “We are whipped, sir. We are all in retreat. You are all to go back.” “Can you tell me where I can find General McDowell?” “No! nor can any one else.”

A few shells could be heard bursting not very far off, but there was nothing to account for such an extraordinary scene. A third officer, however, confirmed the report that the whole army was in retreat, and that the Federals were beaten on all points, but there was nothing in this disorder to indicate a general rout. All these things took place in a few seconds. I got up out of the road into a corn-field, through which men were hastily walking or running, their faces streaming with perspiration, and generally without arms, and worked my way for about half a mile or so, as well as I could judge, against an increasing stream of fugitives, the ground being strewed with coats, blankets, firelocks, cooking tins, caps, belts, bayonets — asking in vain where General McDowell was.

Again I was compelled by the condition of the fields to come into the road; and having passed a piece of wood and a regiment which seemed to be moving back in column of march in tolerably good order, I turned once more into an opening close to a white house, not far from the lane, beyond which there was a belt of forest. Two field-pieces unlimbered near the house, with panting horses in the rear, were pointed towards the front, and along the road beside them there swept a tolerably steady column of men mingled with field ambulances and light baggage carts, back to Centreville. I had just stretched out my hand to get a cigar-light from a German gunner, when the dropping shots which had been sounding through the woods in front of us, suddenly swelled into an animated fire. In a few seconds a crowd of men rushed out of the wood down toward the guns, and the artillerymen near me seized the trail of a piece, and were wheeling it round to fire, when an officer or sergeant called out, “Stop! stop! They are our own men;” and in two or three minutes the whole battalion came sweeping past the guns at the double, and in the utmost disorder. Some of the artillerymen dragged the horses out of the tumbrils; and for a moment the confusion was so great I could not understand what had taken place; but a soldier whom I stopped, said, “We are pursued by their cavalry; they have cut us all to pieces.”

Murat himself would not have dared to move a squadron on such ground. However, if could not be doubted that something serious was taking place; and at that moment a shell burst in front of the house, scattering the soldiers near it, which was followed by another that bounded along the road; and in a few minutes more out came another regiment from the wood, almost as broken as the first. The scene on the road had now assumed an aspect which has not a parallel in any description I have ever read. Infantry soldiers on mules and draught horses, with the harness clinging to their heels, as much frightened as their riders; negro servants on their masters' chargers; ambulances crowded with unwounded soldiers; wagons swarming with men who threw out the contents in the road to make room, grinding through a shouting, screaming mass of men on foot, who were literally yelling with rage at every halt, and shrieking out, “Here are the cavalry! Will you get on?” This portion of the force was evidently in discord.

There was nothing left for it but to go with the current one could not stem. I turned round my horse from the deserted guns, and endeavored to find out what had occurred as I rode quietly back on the skirts of the crowd. I talked with those on all sides of me. Some uttered prodigious nonsense, describing batteries tier over tier, and ambuscades, and blood running knee-deep. Others described how their boys had carried whole lines of intrenchments, but were beaten back for want of reinforcements. The names of many regiments were mentioned as being utterly destroyed. Cavalry and bayonet charges and masked batteries played prominent parts in all the narrations. Some of the officers seemed to feel the disgrace of defeat; but the strangest thing was the general indifference with which the event seemed to be regarded by those who collected their senses as soon as they got out of fire, and who said they were just going as far as Centreville, and would have a big fight to-morrow.

By this time I was unwillingly approaching Centreville in the midst of heat, dust, confusions, imprecations inconceivable. On arriving at the place where a small rivulet crossed the road, the throng increased still more. The ground over which I had passed going out was now covered with arms, clothing of all kinds, accoutrements thrown off and left to be trampled in the dust under the hoofs of men and horses. The runaways ran along-side the wagons, striving to force themselves in among the occupants, who resisted tooth and nail. The drivers spurred and whipped and urged the horses to the utmost of their bent. I felt an inclination to laugh, which was overcome by disgust, and by that vague sense of something extraordinary taking place which is experienced when a man sees a number of people acting as if driven by some unknown terror. As I rode in the crowd with men clinging to the stirrup-leathers, or holding on by anything they could lay hands on, so that I had some apprehension of being pulled off, I spoke to the men, and asked them over and over again not to be in such a hurry. There's no enemy to pursue you. All the cavalry in the world could not get at you.” But I might as well have talked to the stones.

For my own part, I wanted to get out of the ruck as fast as I could, for the heat and dust were very distressing, particularly to a half-starved man. Many of the fugitives were in the last stages of exhaustion, and some actually sank down by the fences, at the risk of being trampled to death. Above the roar of the flight, which was like the rush of a great river, the guns burst forth from time to time.

The road at last became somewhat clearer; for I had got ahead of some of the ammunition train and wagons, and the others were dashing up the hill towards Centreville. The men's great-coats and blankets had been stowed in the trains; but the fugitives had apparently thrown them out on the road, to make room for themselves. Just beyond the stream I saw a heap of clothing tumble out of a large covered cart, and cried out after the driver, “Stop! stop! All the things are tumbling out of the cart.” But my zeal was checked by a scoundrel putting his head out, and shouting with a curse, “If you try to stop the team, I'll blow your ——brains out.” My brains advised me to adopt the principle of non-intervention.

It never occurred to me that this was a grand debacle. All along I believed the mass of the army was not broken, and that all I saw around was the result of confusion created in a crude organization by a forced retreat; and knowing the reserves were at Centreville and beyond, I said to myself, “Let us see how this will be when we get to the hill.” I indulged in a quiet chuckle, too, at the idea of my philosophical friend and his stout companion finding themselves suddenly enveloped in the crowd of fugitives; but knew they could easily have regained their original position on the hill. Trotting along briskly through the fields, I arrived at the foot of the slope on which Centreville stands, and met a German regiment just deploying into line very well and steadily — the men in the rear companies laughing, smoking, singing, and jesting with the fugitives, who were filing past; but no thought of stopping the wagons, as the orders repeated from mouth to mouth were that they were to fall back beyond Centreville.

The air of the men was good. The officers were cheerful, and one big German with a great pipe in his bearded mouth, with spectacles on nose, amused himself by pricking the horses with his sabre point, as he passed, to the sore discomfiture of the riders. Behind the regiment came a battery of brass field-pieces, and another regiment in column of march was following the guns. They were going to form line at the end of the slope, and no fairer position could well be offered for a defensive attitude, although it might be turned. But it was getting too late for the enemy wherever they were to attempt such an extensive operation. Several times I had been asked by officers and men, “Where do you think we will halt? Where are the rest of the army?” I always replied “Centreville,” and I had heard hundreds of the fugitives say they were going to Centreville.

I rode up the road, turned into the little street which carries the road on the right-hand side to Fairfax Court House and the hill, and went straight to the place where I had left the buggy in a lane on the left of the road beside a small house and shed, expecting to find Mr. Warre ready for a start, as I had faithfully promised Lord Lyons he should be back that night in Washington. The buggy was not there. I pulled open the door of the shed in which the horses had been sheltered out of the sun. They were gone. “Oh,” said I, to myself, “of course! What a stupid fellow I am. Warre has had the horses put in and taken the gig to the top of the hill, in order to see the last of it before we go.” And so I rode over to the ridge; but arriving there, could see no sign of our vehicle far or near. There were two carriages of some kind or other still remaining on the hill, and a few spectators, civilians and military, gazing on the scene below, which was softened in the golden rays of the declining sun. The smoke wreaths had ceased to curl over the green sheets of billowy forest as sea-foam crisping in a gentle breeze breaks the lines of the ocean. But far and near yellow and dun-colored piles of dust seamed the landscape, leaving behind them long trailing clouds of lighter vapors which were dotted now and then by white puff-balls from the bursting of shell On the right these clouds were very heavy and seemed to approach rapidly, and it occurred to me they might be caused by an advance of the much spoken-of and little seen cavalry; and remembering the cross road from Germantown, it seemed a very fine and very feasible operation for the Confederates to cut right in on the line of retreat and communication, in which case the fate of the army and of Washington could not be dubious. There were now few civilians on the hill, and these were thinning away. Some were gesticulating and explaining to one another the causes of the retreat, looking very hot and red. The confusion among the last-portion of the carriages and fugitives on the road, which I had outstripped, had been renewed again, and the crowd there presented a remarkable and ludicrous aspect through the glass; but there were two strong battalions in good order near the foot of the hill, a battery on the slope, another on the top, and a portion of a regiment in and about the houses of the village.

A farewell look at the scene presented no new features. Still the clouds of dust moved onwards denser and higher; flashes of arms lighted them up at times; the fields were dotted by fugitives, among whom many mounted men were marked by their greater speed, and the little flecks of dust rising from the horses' feet.

I put up my glass, and turning from the hill, with difficulty forced my way through the crowd of vehicles which were making their way towards the main road in the direction of the lane, hoping that by some lucky accident I might find the gig in waiting for me. But I sought in vain; a sick soldier who was on a stretcher in front of the house near the corner of the lane, leaning on his elbow and looking at the stream of men and carriages, asked me if I could tell him what they were in such a hurry for, and I said they were merely getting back to their bivouacs. A man dressed in civilian's clothes grinned as I spoke. “I think they'll go farther than that,” said he; and then added, “If you're looking for the wagon you came in, it's pretty well back to Washington by this time. I think I saw you down there with a nigger and two men.” Yes.” “They're all off, gone more than an hour and a half ago, I think, and a stout man — I thought was you at first — along with them.”

Nothing was left for it but to brace up the girths for a ride to the Capitol, for which, hungry and fagged as I was, I felt very little inclination. I was trotting quietly down the hill road beyond Centreville, when suddenly the guns on the other side, or from a battery very near, opened fire, and a fresh outburst of artillery sounded through the woods. In an instant the mass of vehicles and retreating soldiers, teamsters, and civilians, as if agonized by an electric shock, quivered throughout the tortuous line. With dreadful shouts and cursings, the drivers lashed their maddened horses, and leaping from the carts, left them to their fate, and ran on foot. Artillerymen and foot soldiers, and negroes mounted on gun horses, with the chain traces and loose trappings trailing in the dust, spurred and flogged their steeds down the road or by the side paths. The firing continued and seemed to approach the hill, and at every report the agitated body of horsemen and wagons was seized, as it were, with a fresh convulsion.

Once more the dreaded cry, “The cavalry! cavalry are coming!” rang through the crowd, and looking back to Centreville I perceived coming down the hill, between me and the sky, a number of mounted men, who might at a hasty glance be taken for horsemen in the act of sabreing the fugitives. In reality they were soldiers and civilians, with, I regret to say, some officers among them, who were whipping and striking their horses with sticks or whatever else they could lay hands on. I called out to the men who were frantic with terror beside me, “They are not cavalry at all; they're your own men” — but they did not heed me. A fellow who was shouting out, “Run! run!” as loud as he could beside me, seemed to take delight in creating alarm; and as he was perfectly collected as far as I could judge, I said, “What on earth are you running for? What are you afraid of?” He was in the roadside below me, and at once turning on me, and exclaiming, “I'm not afraid of you,” presented his piece and pulled the trigger so instantaneously, that had it gone off I could not have swerved from the ball. As the scoundrel deliberately drew up to examine the nipple, I judged it best not to give him another chance, and spurred on through the crowd, where any man could have shot as many as he pleased without interruption. The only conclusion I came to was, that he was mad or drunken. When I was passing by the line of the bivouacs a battalion of men came tumbling down the bank from the field into the road, with fixed bayonets, and as some fell in the road and others tumbled on top .of them, there must have been a few ingloriously wounded.

I galloped on for a short distance to head the ruck, for I could not tell whether this body of infantry intended moving back towards Centreville or were coming down the road; but the mounted men galloping furiously past me, with a cry of “Cavalry! Cavalry!” on their lips, swept on faster than I did, augmenting the alarm and excitement. I came up with two officers who were riding more leisurely; and touching my hat, said, “I venture to suggest that these men should be stopped, sir. If not, they will alarm the whole of the post and pickets on to Washington. They will fly next, and the consequences will be most disastrous.” One of the two, looking at me for a moment, nodded his head without saying a word, spurred his horse to full speed, and dashed on in front along the road. Following more leisurely I observed the fugitives in front were suddenly checked in their speed; and as I turned my horse into the wood by the road side to get on so as to prevent the chance of another block-up, I passed several private vehicles, in one of which Mr. Raymond, of the “New York Times,” was seated with some friends, looking by no means happy. He says in his report to his paper, “About a mile this side of Centreville a stampede took place amongst the teamsters and others, which threw everything into the utmost confusion, and inflicted very serious” injuries. Mr. Eaton, of Michigan, in trying to arrest the flight of some of these men, was shot by one of them the ball taking effect in his hand.” He asked me, in some anxiety, what I thought would happen. I replied, “No doubt McDowell will stand fast at Centreville to-night. These are mere runaways, and unless the enemy's cavalry succeed in getting through at this' road, there is nothing to apprehend.”

And I continued through the wood till I got a clear space in front on the road, along which a regiment of infantry was advancing towards me. They halted ere I came up, and with levelled firelocks arrested the men on horses and the carts and wagons galloping towards them, and blocked up the road to stop their progress. As I tried to edge by on the right of the column by the left of the road, a soldier presented his firelock at my head from the higher ground on which he stood, for the road had a deep trench cut on the side by which I was endeavoring to pass, and sung out, “Halt! Stop — or I fire!” The officers in front were waving their swords and shouting out, “Don't let a soul pass! Keep back! keep back!” Bowing to the officer who was near me, I said, “I beg to assure you, sir, I am not running away. I am a civilian and a British subject. I have done my best as I came along to stop this disgraceful rout. I am in no hurry; I merely want to get back to Washington to-night. I have been telling them all along there are no cavalry near us.” The officer to whom I was speaking, young and somewhat excited, kept repeating, “Keep back, sir! keep back! you must keep back.” Again I said to him, “I assure you I am not with this crowd; my pulse is as cool as your own.” But as he paid no attention to what I said, I suddenly bethought me of General Scott's letter, and addressing another officer, said, “I am a civilian going to Washington; will you be kind enough to look at this pass, specially given to me by General Scott.” The officer looked at it, and handed it to a mounted man, either adjutant or colonel, who, having examined it, returned it to me, saying, “Oh, yes! certainly. Pass that man!” And with a cry of “Pass that man!” along the line, I rode down the trench very leisurely, and got out on the road, which was now clear, though some fugitives had stolen through the woods on the flanks of the column and were in front of me.

A little further on there was a cart on the right-hand side of the road, surrounded by a group of soldiers. I was trotting past when a respectable-looking man in a semi-military garb, coming out from the group, said, in a tone of much doubt and distress — “Can you tell me, sir, for God's sake, where the 69th New York are? These men tell me they are all cut to pieces.” “And so they are,” exclaimed one of the fellows, who had the number of the regiment on his cap.

“You hear what they say, sir?” exclaimed the man.

“I do, but I really cannot tell you where the 69th are.”

“I'm in charge of these mails, and I'll deliver them if I die for it; but is it safe for me to go on? You are a gentleman, and I can depend on your word.”

His assistant and himself were in the greatest perplexity of mind, but all I could say was, “I really can't tell you; I believe the army will halt at Centreville to-night, and I think you may go on there with the greatest safety, if you can get through the crowd.” “Faith, then, he can't,” exclaimed one of the soldiers.

“Why not?” “Shure, arn't we cut to pieces. Didn't I hear the kurnel himsilf saying we was all of us to cut and run, every man on his own hook, as well as he could. Stop at Cinthreville, indeed!"
I bade the mail agent* good evening and rode on, but even in this short colloquy stragglers on foot and on horseback, who had turned the flanks of the regiment by side-paths or through the woods, came pouring along the road once more.

Somewhere about this I was accosted by a stout, elderly man, with the air and appearance of a respectable mechanic, or, small tavern-keeper, who introduced himself as having met me at Cairo. He poured out a, flood of woes on me, how he had lost his friend and companion, nearly lost his seat several times, was unaccustomed to riding, was suffering much pain from the unusual position and exercise, did not know the road, feared he would never be able to get on, dreaded he might be captured and ill-treated if he was known, and such topics as a selfish man in a good deal of pain or fear is likely to indulge in. I calmed his apprehensions as well as I could, by saying, “I had no doubt McDowell would halt and show fight at Centreville, and be able to advance from it in a day or two to renew the fight again; that he couldn't miss the road; whiskey and tallow were good for abrasions;” and as I was riding very slowly, he jogged along, for he was a bur, and would stick, with many “Oh dears! Oh! dear me!” for most part of the way joining me at intervals till I reached Fairfax Court House. A body of infantry were under arms in a grove near the Court House, on the right-hand side of the road. The door and windows of the houses presented crowds of faces black and white; and men and women stood out upon the porch, who asked me as I passed, “Have you been at the fight?” “What are they all running for?” “Are the rest of them coming on?” to which I gave the same replies as before.

Arrived at the little inn where I had halted in the morning, I perceived the sharp-faced woman in black standing in the veranda with an elderly man, a taller and younger one dressed in black, a little girl, and a woman who stood in the passage of the door. I asked if I could get anything to eat. “Not a morsel; there's not a bit left in the house, but you can get something, perhaps, if you like to stay till supper-time.” “Would you oblige me by telling me where I can get some water for my horse?” “Oh, certainly,” said the elder man, and calling to a negro he directed him to bring a bucket from the well or pump, into which the thirsty brute buried its head to the eyes. Whilst the horse was drinking, the taller or younger man, leaning over the veranda, asked me quietly “What are all the people coming back for? — what's set them a-running towards Alexandria?”

“Oh, it's only a fright the drivers of the commissariat wagons have had; they are afraid of the enemy's cavalry.”

“Ah!” said the man, and looking at me narrowly he inquired, after a pause, “Are you an American?”

“No, I am not, thank God; I'm an Englishman.”

“Well then,” said he, nodding his head and speaking slowly through his teeth; “there will be cavalry after them soon enough; there is 20,000 of the best horsemen in the world in old Virginny.”

Having received full directions from the people at the inn for the road to the Long Bridge, which I was most anxious to reach instead of going to Alexandria or to Georgetown, I bade the Virginian good-evening; and seeing that my stout friend, who had also watered his horse by my advice at the inn, was still clinging along-side, I excused myself by saying I must press on to Washington, and galloped on for a mile, until I got into the cover of a wood, where I dismounted to examine the horse's hoofs and shift the saddle for a moment, wipe the sweat off his back, and make him and myself as comfortable as could be for our ride into Washington, which was still seventeen or eighteen miles before me. I passed groups of men, some on horseback, others on foot, going at a more leisurely rate towards the capital; and as I was smoking my last cigar by the side of the wood, I observed the number had rather increased, and that among the retreating stragglers were some men who appeared to be wounded.

The sun had set, but the rising moon was adding every moment to the lightness of the road as I mounted once more and set out at a long trot for the capital. Presently I was overtaken by a wagon with a small escort of cavalry and an officer riding in front. I had seen the same vehicle once or twice along the road, and observed an officer seated in it with his head bound up with a handkerchief, looking very pale and ghastly. The mounted officer leading the escort asked me if I was going into Washington and knew the road. I told him I had never been on it before, but thought I could find my way, “at any rate we'll find plenty to tell us.” That's Colonel Hunter inside the carriage, he's shot through the throat and jaw, and I want to get him to the doctor's in Washington as soon as I can. Have you been to the fight?”

“No, sir,”

“A member of Congress, I suppose, sir?”

“No sir; I'm an Englishman.”

“Oh, indeed, sir, then I'm glad you did not see it; so mean a fight, sir, I never saw; we whipped the cusses and drove them before us, and took their batteries and spiked their guns, and got right up in among all their dirt works and great batteries and forts, driving them before us like sheep, when up more of them would get, as if out of the ground, then our boys would drive them again till we were fairly worn out; they had nothing to eat since last night and nothing to drink. I myself have not tasted a morsel since two o'clock last night. Well, there we were waiting for reinforcements and expecting McDowell and the rest of the army, when whish! they threw open a whole lot of masked batteries on us, and then came down such swarms of horsemen on black horses, all black as you never saw, and slashed our boys over finely. The colonel was hit, and I thought it best to get him off as well as I could, before it was too late. And, my God! when they did take to running they did it first-rate, I can tell you;” and so, the officer, who had evidently taken enough to affect his empty stomach and head, chattering about the fight, we trotted on in the moonlight: dipping down into the valleys on the road, which seemed like inky lakes in the shadows of the black trees, then mounting up again along the white road, which shone like a river in the moonlight — the country silent as death, though once as we crossed a small watercourse and the noise of the carriage-wheels ceased, I called the attention of my companions to a distant sound, as of a great multitude of people mingled with a faint report of cannon. “Do you hear that?” “No, I don't. But it's our chaps, no doubt. They're coming along fine, I can promise you.” At last some miles further on we came to a picket, or main guard, on the roadside, who ran forward, crying out, “What's the news — anything fresh — are we whipped ? — is it a fact?” “Well, gentlemen,” exclaimed the Major, reining up for a moment, “we are knocked into a cocked hat — licked to h--1.” “Oh, pray, don't say that,” I exclaimed, “it's not quite so bad; it's only a drawn battle, and the troops will occupy Centreville to-night, and the posts they started from this morning.”

A little further on we met a line of commissariat carts, and my excited and rather injudicious military friend appeared to take the greatest pleasure in replying to their anxious queries for news, “We are whipped! Whipped like h--1.”

At the cross-roads now and then we were perplexed, for no one knew the bearings of Washington, though the stars were bright enough; but good fortune favored us and kept us straight, and at a deserted little village, with a solitary church on the roadside, I increased my pace, bade good-night and good speed to the officer, and having kept company with two men in a gig for some time, got at length on the guarded road leading towards the capital, and was stopped by the pickets, patrols, and grand rounds, making repeated demands for the last accounts from the field. The houses by the roadside were all closed up and in darkness, I knocked in vain at several for a drink of water, but was answered only by the angry barkings of the watch-dogs from the slave quarters. It was a peculiarity of the road that the people, and soldiers I met, at points several miles apart, always insisted that I was twelve miles from, Washington. Up hills, down valleys, with the silent grim woods forever by my side, the white roads and the black shadows of men, still I was twelve miles from the Long Bridge, but suddenly I came upon a grand guard under arms, who had quite different ideas, and who said I was only about four miles from the river; they crowded round me. “Well, man, and how is the fight going?” I repeated my tale. “What does he say?” “Oh, begorra, he says we're not bet at all; it's all lies they have been telling us; we're only going back to the ould lines for the greater convaniency of fighting to-morrow again; that's illigant, hooro!”

All by the sides of the old camps the men were standing, lining the road, and I was obliged to evade many a grasp at my bridle by shouting out “Don't stop me; I've important news; it's all well!” and still the good horse, refreshed by the cool night air, went clattering on, till from the top of the road beyond Arlington I caught a sight of the lights of Washington and the white buildings of the Capitol, and of the Executive Mansion, glittering like snow in the moonlight. At the entrance to the Long Bridge the sentry challenged and asked for the countersign. “I have not got it, but I've a pass from General Scott.” An officer advanced from the guard, and on reading the pass permitted me to go on without difficulty. He said, “I have been obliged to let a good many go over to-night before you, congressmen and others. I suppose you did not expect to be coming back so soon. I fear it's a bad business.” “Oh, not so bad after all; I expected to have been back tonight before nine o'clock, and crossed over this morning without the countersign.” “Well, I guess,” said he, “we don't do such quick fighting as that in this country.”

As I crossed the Long Bridge there was scarce a sound to dispute the possession of its echoes with my horse's hoofs. The poor beast had carried me nobly and well, and I made up my mind to buy him, as I had no doubt he would answer perfectly to carry me back in a day or two to McDowell's army by the time he had organized it for a new attack upon the enemy's position. Little did I conceive the greatness of the defeat, the magnitude of the disasters which it had entailed upon the United States or the interval that would elapse before another army set out from the banks of the Potomac onward to Richmond. Had I sat down that night to write my letter, quite ignorant at the time of the great calamity which had befallen his army, in all probability I would have stated that McDowell had received a severe repulse, and had fallen back upon Centreville, that a disgraceful panic and confusion had attended the retreat of a portion of his army, but that the appearance of the reserves would probably prevent the enemy taking any advantage of the disorder; and as I would have merely been able to describe such incidents as came under my own observation, and would have left the American journals to narrate the actual details, and the despatches of the American Generals the strategical events of the day, I should have led the world at home to believe, as, in fact, I believed myself that McDowell's retrograde movement would be arrested at some point between Centreville and Fairfax Court House.

The letter that I was to write occupied my mind whilst I was crossing the Long Bridge, gazing at the lights reflected in the Potomac from the city. The night had become overcast, and heavy clouds rising up rapidly obscured the moon, forming a most fantastic mass of shapes in the sky.

At the Washington end of the bridge I was challenged again by the men of a whole regiment, who, with piled arms, were halted on the chaussée, smoking, laughing, and singing, “Stranger, have you been to the fight?” “I have been only a little beyond Centreville.” But that was quite enough. Soldiers, civilians, and women, who seemed to be out unusually late, crowded round the horse, and again I told my stereotyped story of the unsuccessful attempt to carry the Confederate position, and the retreat to Centreville to await better luck next time. The soldiers along-side me cheered, and those next them took it up till it ran through the whole line, and must have awoke the night owls.

As I passed Willard's Hotel a little further on, a clock — I think the only public clock which strikes the hours in Washington — tolled out the hour; and I supposed, from what the sentry told me, though I did not count the strokes, that it was eleven; o'clock. All the rooms in the hotel were a blaze of light. The pavement before the door was crowded, and some mounted men and the clattering of sabres on the pavement led me to infer that the escort of the wounded officer had arrived before me. I passed on to the livery-stables, where every one was alive and stirring.

“I'm sure,” said the man, “I thought I'd never see you nor the horse back again. The gig and the other gentleman has been back a long time. How did he carry you?”

“Oh, pretty well; what's his price?”

“Well, now that I look at him, and to you, it will be 100 dollars less than I said, I'm in good heart to-night.”

“Why so? A number of your horses and carriages have not come back yet, you tell me.”

“Oh, well, I'll get paid for them some time or another. Oh, such news! such news!” said he, rubbing his hands. “Twenty thousand of them killed and wounded! Maybe they're not having fits in the White House tonight!”

I walked to my lodgings, and just as I turned the key in the door a flash of light made me pause for a moment, in expectation of the report of a gun; for I. could not help thinking it quite possible that, somehow or another, the Confederate cavalry would try to beat up the lines, but no sound followed. It must' have been lightning. I walked up-stairs, and saw a most welcome supper ready on the table — an enormous piece of cheese, a sausage of unknown components, a knuckle-bone of ham, and a bottle of a very light wine of France; but I would not have exchanged that repast and have waited half an hour for any banquet that Soyer or Careme could have prepared at their best. Then, having pulled off my boots, bathed my head, trimmed candles, and lighted a pipe, I sat down to write. I made some feeble sentences, but the pen went flying about the paper as if the spirits were playing tricks with it. When I screwed up my utmost resolution, the “y’s” would still run into long streaks, and the letters combine most curiously, and my eyes closed, and my pen slipped, and just as I was aroused from a nap, and settled into a stern determination to hold my pen straight, I was interrupted by a messenger from Lord Lyons, to inquire whether I had returned, and if so, to ask me to go up to the Legation and get something to eat. I explained, with my thanks, that I was quite safe, and had eaten supper, and learned from the servant “that Mr. Warre and his companion had arrived about two hours previously. I resumed my seat once more, haunted by the memory of the Boston mail, which would be closed in a few hours, and I had much to tell, although I had not seen the battle. Again and again I woke up, but at last the greatest conqueror but death overcame me, and with my head on the blotted paper, I fell fast asleep.
______________

* I have since met the person referred to, an Englishman living in Washington, and well known at the Legation and elsewhere. Mr. Dawson came to tell me that he had seen a letter in an American journal, which was copied extensively all over the Union, in which the writer stated he accompanied me on my return to Fairfax Court House, and that the incident I related in my account of Bull Run did not occur, but that he was the individual referred to, and could swear with his assistant that every word I wrote was true. I did not need any such corroboration for the satisfaction of any who know me; and I was quite well aware that if one came from the dead to bear testimony in my favor before the American journals and public, the evidence would not countervail the slander of any characterless scribe who sought to gain a moment's notoriety by a flat contradiction of my narrative. I may add, that Dawson begged of me not to bring him before the public, “because I am now sutler to the ——th, over in Virginia, and they would dismiss me.” “What! For certifying to the truth?” “You know, sir, it might do me harm.” Whilst on this subject, let me remark that some time afterwards I was in Mr. Brady's photographic studio in Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, when the very intelligent and obliging manager introduced himself to me, and said that he wished to have an opportunity of repeating to me personally what he had frequently told persons in the place, that he could bear the fullest testimony to the complete accuracy of my account of the panic from Centreville down the road at the time I left, and that he and his assistants, who were on the spot trying to get away their photographic van and apparatus, could certify that my description fell far short of the disgraceful spectacle and of the excesses of the flight.

SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and South, Vol. 1, p. 442-66