Diary of Adam Gurowski, November 1861

THE season is excellent for military operations, such as any Napoleon could wish it. And we, lying not on our oars or arms, but in our beds, as our spes patriæ is warmly and cosily established in a large house, receiving there the incense and salutations of all flunkeys. Even cabinet ministers crowd McClellan's antechambers!

The massacre at Ball's Bluff is the work either of treason, or of stupidity, or of cowardice, or most probably of all three united.

No European government and no European nation would thus coolly bear it. Any commander culpable of such stupidity would be forever disgraced, and dismissed from the army. Here the administration, the Cabinet, and all the Scotts, the McClellans, the Thomases, etc., strain their brains and muscles to whitewash themselves or the culprit—to represent this massacre as something very innocent.

Victoria! Victoria! Old Scott, Old Mischief, gone overboard! So vanished one of the two evil genii keeping guard over Mr. Lincoln's brains. But it will not be so easy to redress the evil done by Scott. He nailed the country's cause to such a turnpike that any of his successors will perhaps be unable to undo what Old Mischief has done. Scott might have had certain, even eminent, military capacity; but, all things considered, he had it only on a small scale. Scott never had in his hand large numbers, and hundreds of European generals of divisions would do the same that Scott did, even in Mexico. Any one in Europe, who in some way or other participated in the events of the last forty years, has had occasion to see or participate in one single day in more and better fighting, to hear more firing, and smell more powder, than has General Scott in his whole life.

Scott's fatal influence palsied, stiffened, and poisoned every noble or higher impulse, and every aspiration of the people. Scott diligently sowed the first seeds of antagonism between volunteers and regulars, and diligently nursed them. Around his person in the War Department, and in the army, General Scott kept and maintained officers, who, already before the inauguration, declared, and daily asserted, that if it comes to a war, few officers of the army will unite with the North and remain loyal to the Union.

He never forgot to be a Virginian, and was filled with all a Virginian's conceit. To the last hour he warded off blows aimed at Virginia. To this hour he never believed in a serious war, and now requiescat in pace until the curse of coming generations.

McClellan is invested with all the powers of Scott. McClellan has more on his shoulders than any man—a Napoleon not excepted—can stand; and with his very limited capacity McClellan must necessarily break under it. Now McClellan will be still more idolized. He is already a kind of dictator, as Lincoln, Seward, etc., turn around him.

In a conversation with Cameron, I warned him against bestowing such powers on McClellan. "What shall we do?" was Cameron's answer; "neither the President nor I know anything about military affairs." Well, it is true; but McClellan is scarcely an apprentice.

Again the intermittent fear, or fever, of foreign intervention. How absurd! Americans belittle themselves talking and thinking about it. The European powers will not, and cannot. That is my creed and my answer; but some of our agents, diplomats, and statesmen, try to made capital for themselves from this fever which they evoke to establish before the public that their skill preserves the country from foreign intervention. Bosh!

All the good and useful produced in the life and in the economy of nations, all the just and the right in their institutions, all the ups and downs, misfortunes and disasters befalling them, all this was, is, and forever will be the result of logical deductions from pre-existing dates and facts. And here almost everybody forgets the yesterday.

A revolution imposes obligations. A revolution makes imperative the development and the practical application of those social principles which are its basis.

The American Revolution of 1776 proclaimed self-government, equality before all, happiness of all, etc.; it is therefore the peremptory duty of the American people to uproot domestic oligarchy, based upon living on the labor of an enslaved man; it has to put a stop to the moral, intellectual, and physical servitude of both, of whites and of colored.

Eminent men in America are taunted with the ambition to reach the White House. In itself it is not condemnable; it is a noble or an ignoble ambition, according to the ways and means used to reach that aim. It is great and stirring to see one's name recorded in the list of Presidents of the United States; but there is still a record far shorter, but by far more to be envied—a record venerated by our race—it is the record of truly great men. The actually inscribed runners for the White House do not think of this.

No one around me here seems to understand (and no one is familiar enough with general history) that protracted wars consolidate a nationality. Every day of Southern existence shapes it out more and more into a nation, with all the necessary moral and material conditions of existence.

Seeing these repeated reviews, I cannot get rid of the idea that by such shows and displays McClellan tries to frighten the rebels in the Chinaman fashion. The collateral missions to England, France, and Spain, are to add force to our cause before the public opinion as well as before the rulers. But what a curious choice of men! It would be called even an unhappy one. Thurlow Weed, with his offhand, apparently sincere, if not polished ways, may not be too repulsive to English refinement, provided he does not buttonhole his interlocutionists, or does not pat them on the shoulder. So Thurlow Weed will be dined, wined, etc. But doubtless the London press will show him up, or some "Secesh" in London will do it. I am sure that Lord Lyons, as it is his paramount duty, has sent to Earl Russell a full and detailed biography of this Seward's alter ego, sent ad latus to Mr. Adams. Thurlow Weed will be considered an agreeable fellow; but he never can acquire much weight and consideration, neither with the statesmen, nor with the members of the government, nor in saloons, nor with the public at large.

Edward Everett begged to be excused from such a false position offered to him in London. Not fish, not flesh. It was rather an offence to proffer it to Everett. The old patriot better knows Europe, its cabinets, and exigencies, than those who attempted to intricate him in this ludicrous position. He is right, and he will do more good here than he could do in London—there on a level with Thurlow Weed!

Archbishop Hughes is to influence Paris and France,—but whom? The public opinion, which is on our side, is anti-Roman, and Hughes is an Ultra Montane—an opinion not over friendly to Louis Napoleon. The French clergy in every way, in culture, wisdom, instruction, theology, manners, deportment, etc., is superior to Hughes in incalculable proportions, and the French clergy are already generally anti-slavery. Hughes to act on Louis Napoleon! Why! the French Emperor can outwit a legion of Hugheses, and do this without the slightest effort. Besides, for more than a century European sovereigns, governments, and cabinets, have generally given up the use of bishops, etc., for political, public, or confidential missions. Mr. Seward stirs up old dust. All the liberal party in Europe or France will look astonished, if not worse, at this absurdity.

All things considered, it looks like one of Seward's personal tricks, and Seward outwitted Chase, took him in by proffering a similar mission to Chase's friend, Bishop McIlvaine. But I pity Dayton. He is a high-toned man, and the mission of Hughes is a humiliation to Dayton.

Whatever may be the objects of these missions, they look like petty expedients, unworthy a minister of a great government.

Mason and Slidell caught. England will roar, but here the people are satisfied. Some of the diplomats make curious faces. Lord Lyons behaves with dignity. The small Bremen flatter right and left, and do it like little lap-dogs.

Governor Andrew of Massachusetts, ex-Governor Boutwell, are tip-top men—men of the people. The Blairs are too heinous, too violent, in their persecution of Fremont. Warned M. Blair not to protect one whom Fremont deservedly expelled. But M. Blair, in his spite against Fremont, took a mean adventurer by the hand, and entangled therein the President.

The vessel and the crew are excellent, and would easily obey the hand of a helmsman, but there is the rub, where to find him? Lincoln is a simple man of the prairie, and his eyes penetrate not the fog, the tempest. They do not perceive the signs of the times - cannot embrace the horizon of the nation. And thus his small intellectual insight is dimmed by those around him. Lincoln begins now already to believe that he is infallible; that he is ahead of the people, and frets that the people may remain behind. Oh simplicity or conceit!

Again, Lincoln is frightened with the success in South Carolina, as in his opinion this success will complicate the question of slavery. He is frightened as to what he shall do with Charleston and Augusta, provided these cities are taken.

It is disgusting to hear with what superciliousness the different members of the Cabinet speak of the approaching Congress—and not one of them is in any way the superior of many congressmen.

When Congress meets, the true national balance account will be struck. The commercial and piratical flag of the secesh is virtually in all waters and ports. (The little cheese-eater, the Hollander, was the first to raise a fuss against the United States concerning the piratical flag. This is not to be forgotten.) 2d. Prestige, to a great extent, lost. 3d. Millions upon millions wasted. Washington besieged and blockaded, and more than 200,000 men kept in check by an enemy not by half as strong. 4th. Every initiative which our diplomacy tried abroad was wholly unsuccessful, and we are obliged to submit to new international principles inaugurated at our cost; and, summing up, instead of a broad, decided, general policy, we have vacillation, inaction, tricks, and expedients. The people fret, and so will the Congress. Nations are as individuals; any partial disturbance in a part of the body occasions a general chill. Nature makes efforts to check the beginning of disease, and so do nations. In the human organism nature does not submit willingly to the loss of health, or of a limb, or of life. Nature struggles against death. So the people of the Union will not submit to an amputation, and is uneasy to see how unskilfully its own family doctors treat the national disease.

Port Royal, South Carolina, taken. Great and general rejoicing. It is a brilliant feat of arms, but a questionable military and war policy. Those attacks on the circumference, or on extremities, never can become a death-blow to secesh. The rebels must be crushed in the focus; they ought to receive a blow at the heart. This new strategy seems to indicate that McClellan has not heart enough to attack the fastnesses of rebeldom, but expects that something may turn up from these small expeditions. He expects to weaken the rebels in their focus. I wish McClellan may be right in his expectations, but I doubt it.

Officers of McClellan's staff tell that Mr. Lincoln almost daily comes into McClellan's library, and sits there rather unnoticed. On several occasions McClellan let the President wait in the room, together with other common mortals.

The English statesmen and the English press have the notion deeply rooted in their brains that the American people fight for empire. The rebels do it, but not the free men.

Mr. Seward's emphatical prohibition to Mr. Adams to mention the question of slavery may have contributed to strengthen in England the above-mentioned fallacy. This is a blunder, which before long or short Seward will repent. It looks like astuteness—ruse; but if so, it is the resource of a rather limited mind. In great and minor affairs, straightforwardness is the best policy. Loyalty always gets the better of astuteness, and the more so when the opponent is unprepared to meet it. Tricks can be well met by tricks, but tricks are impotent against truth and sincerity. But Mr. Seward, unhappily, has spent his life in various political tricks, and was surrounded by men whose intimacy must have necessarily lowered and unhealthily affected him. All his most intimates are unintellectual mediocrities or tricksters.

Seward is free from that infamous know-nothingism of which this Gen. Thomas is the great master (a man every few weeks accused of treason by the public opinion, and undoubtedly vibrating between loyalty here and sympathy with rebels).

All this must have unavoidably vitiated Mr. Seward's better nature. In such way only can I see plainly why so many excellent qualities are marred in him. He at times can broadly comprehend things around him; he is good-natured when not stung, and he is devoted to his men.

As a patriot, he is American to the core—were only his domestic policy straight-forward and decided, and would he only stop meddling with the plans of the campaign, and let the War Department alone.

Since every part of his initiative with European cabinets failed, Seward very skilfully dispatches all the minor affairs with Europe—affairs generated by various maritime and international complications. Were his domestic policy as correct as is now his foreign policy, Seward would be the right man.

Statesmanship emerges from the collision of great principles with important interests. In the great Revolution, the thus called fathers of the nation were the offsprings of the exigencies of the time, and they were fully up to their task. They were vigorous and fresh; their intellect was not obstructed by any political routine, or by tricky political praxis. Such men are now needed at the helm to carry this noble people throughout the most terrible tempest. So in these days one hears so much about constitutional formulas as safeguards of liberty. True liberty is not to be virtually secured by any framework of rules and limitations, devisable only by statecraft. The perennial existence of liberty depends not on the action of any definite and ascertainable machinery, but on continual accessions of fresh and vital influences. But perhaps such influences are among the noblest, and therefore among the rarest, attributes of man.

Abroad and here, traitors and some pedants on formulas make a noise concerning the violation of formulas. Of course it were better if such violations had been left undone. But all this is transient, and evoked by the direst necessity. The Constitution was made for a healthy, normal condition of the nation; the present condition is abnormal. Regular functions are suspended. When the human body is ruined or devoured by a violent disease, often very tonic remedies are used—remedies which would destroy the organism if administered when in a healthy, normal condition. A strong organism recovers from disease, and from its treatment. Human societies and institutions pass through a similar ordeal, and when they are unhinged, extraordinary and abnormal ways are required to maintain the endangered society and restore its equipoise.

Examining day after day the map of Virginia, it strikes one that a movement with half of the army could be made down from Mount Vernon by the two turnpike roads, and by water to Occoquan, and from there to Brentsville. The country there seems to be flat, and not much wooded. Manassas would be taken in the rear, and surrounded, provided the other half of the army would push on by the direct way from here to Manassas, and seriously attack the enemy, who thus would be broken, could not escape. This, or any plan, the map of Virginia ought to suggest to the staff of McClellan, were it a staff in the true meaning. Dybitsch and Toll, young colonels in the staff of Alexander I., 1813-'14, originated the march on Paris, so destructive to Napoleon. History bristles with evidences how with staffs originated many plans of battles and of campaigns; history explains the paramount influence of staffs on the conduct of a war. Of course Napoleon wanted not a suggestive, but only an executive staff; but McClellan is not a Napoleon, and has neither a suggestive nor an executive staff around him. A Marcy to suggest a plan of a campaign or of a battle, to watch over its execution!

I spoke to McDowell about the positions of Occoquan and Brentsville. He answered that perhaps something similar will be under consideration, and that McClellan must show his mettle and capacity. I pity McDowell's confidence.

Besides, the American army as it was and is educated, nursed, brought up by Gen. Scott, —the army has no idea what are the various and complicated duties of a staff. No school of staff at West Point; therefore the difficulty to find now genuine officers of the staff. If McClellan ever moves this army, then the defectiveness of his staff may occasion losses and even disasters. It will be worse with his staff than it was at Jena with the Prussian staff, who were as conceited as the small West Point clique here in Washington.

West Point instructs well in special branches, but does not necessarily form generals and captains. The great American Revolution was fought and made victorious by men not from any military schools, and to whom were opposed commanders with as much military science as there was possessed and current in Europe. Jackson, Taylor, and even Scott, are not from the school.

I do not wish to judge or disparage the pupils from West Point, but I am disgusted with the supercilious and ridiculous behavior of the clique here, ready to form prætorians or anything else, and poisoning around them the public opinion. Western generals are West Point pupils, but I do not hear them make so much fuss, and so contemptuously look down on the volunteers. These Western generals pine not after regulars, but make use of such elements as they have under hand. The best and most patriotic generals and officers here, educated at West Point, are numerous. Unhappily a clique, composed of a few fools and fops, overshadows the others.

McClellan's speciality is engineering. It is a speciality which does not form captains and generals for the field,— at least such instances are very rare. Of all Napoleon's marshals and eminent commanders, Berthier alone was educated as engineer, and his speciality and high capacity was that of a chief of the staff. Marescott or Todleben would never claim to be captains. The intellectual powers of an engineer are modeled, drilled, turned towards the defensive,—the engineer's brains concentrate upon selecting defensive positions, and combine how to strengthen them by art. So an engineer is rather disabled from embracing a whole battle-field, with its endless casualties and space. Engineers are the incarnation of a defensive warfare; all others, as artillerists, infantry, and cavalry, are for dashing into the unknown—into the space; and thus these specialities virtually represent the offensive warfare.

When will they begin to see through McClellan, and find out that he is not the man? Perhaps too late, and then the nation will sorely feel it.

Mr. Seward almost idolizes McClellan. Poor homage that; but it does mischief by reason of its influence on the public opinion.

SOURCE: Adam Gurowski, Diary from March 4, 1861, to November 12, 1862, pp. 115-28

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, October 22, 1861

Went to Washington to see off a friend who has been spending a few weeks with me, as mess-mate. I felt sadly at the parting, and being lonely to-night, I cannot help thinking of home, of home! Where is it? One child in Connecticut, the other in Wisconsin, my wife in New York, and I in Virginia. This separation—disintegration of my family saddens me, and I wish it were otherwise. But the maintenance of government demands war, and war demands sacrifices, to which all patriots must yield. The whisperings of yesterday that we were repulsed at Ball's Bluff, or Edward's Ferry, are more than confirmed, and another good man is sacrificed on the altar of his couutry. General Baker fell in the battle. The particulars have not reached us, but I fear that we have been sorely defeated, notwithstanding General McClellan's promise, a short time since, that we should meet with no more defeats. Shall we have this proclaimed through telegraph and press, as another "Great Victory?" I regret that McClellan made that foolish speech. It has lost him the confidence of many of his friends.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 47-8

Diary of Private Edward W. Crippin, Wednesday Morning, October 23, 1861

Camp McClernand Cairo Illinois. Very cool—quite a change since yesterday. No rain last, night Sad news this morning another good man gone the way of all the Earth—Col. Ed. D. Barker (Baker) One of the best of Orators and the boast of our nation fell while gallantly leading his Regt. at the Battle near Leesburg Virginia Another sacrifice to the glorius cause of liberty. Ten men detailed out of each comp. armed with brooms & shovels for the purpose of cleaning up the barracks, and preparing quarters for our Regt. down in Camp Cairo.

SOURCE: Transactions of the Illinois State Historical Society for the Year 1909, p. 229

Diary of Private Theodore Reichardt, Monday, October 21, 1861

Battle of Ball's Bluff. Gen. Stone crossed the Potomac near Conrad's Ferry, across Harrison's Island, with Col. Baker's brigade, this morning. (Forty-second New York, Fifteenth and Twentieth Massachusetts Regiments, and a piece of artillery, of Capt. Vaughan's battery. The rest of the battery stayed on Harrison Island.) By seven o'clock in the evening, the whole division of Gen. Banks left Darnestown, going to Edwards Ferry. Our battery started about nine o'clock. Arriving at Poolesville, we heard of the disastrous result. Our troops had withdrawn from Ball's Bluff. Col. Baker's corpse was brought into town.

SOURCE: Theodore Reichardt, Diary of Battery A, First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery, p. 24-5

Diary of Laura M. Towne: Tuesday, June 24, 1862

We had a serenade last night. It was given by Holbrook, Fuller, and others. They spoke about it at breakfast and General Hunter laughed heartily as they wanted to know why it was not appreciated by the household. We had a very cosy, sociable, pleasant meal. Mrs. Dibble, or Dibbil, the wife of an officer on Morris Island, who stays with Mrs. Hunter, shared her room with me, and after the serenade we slept well. I had another long talk with General and Mrs. Hunter. I told him of the assault upon Mr. Pierce, and the cotton agents' evil doings generally. He says he shall burn Charleston if he ever has a chance to take it, but that he has no chance now, for all his troops are withdrawn except barely enough for defence. He is a generous but too impulsive man, kind to a fault to his soldiers, and more anti-slavery than I expected. He wore a loose undress coat made of white cassimir and a straw hat, when walking on the piazza. His manner is very quick and decided, and to his wife, attentive and as if he were much attached to her. He told me how she went with him on all his campaigns and how impossible it was for him to do without her; and she told me how he had suffered with the cut across the cheek and wound in the ankle which he received at Ball's Bluff, I think, or Bull Run. I spoke of Fremont admiringly, and he blazed up. “I admire his anti-slavery,” I said, “and his proclamation.” “That was well,” he replied, “but his military operations were ridiculous and he came near losing Missouri;” and he said, I think, that he was not trustworthy.

“There's that guard asleep again,” he said once. “Let him sleep, David,” urged his wife. “How would you like to stand and walk about so long uselessly with a heavy gun on your shoulder in the hot sun? Let him sleep, David.” “Oh, you would keep pretty order in my camp,” he said, laughingly, and let the man sleep.

Mr. French took me back, in the Locust Point, to Beaufort.

SOURCE: Rupert Sargent Holland, Editor, Letters and Diary of Laura M. Towne: Written from the Sea Islands of South Carolina 1862-1864, p. 71-2

The Victory on the Cumberland—The End in Sight

We have reason to believe, if not the certainty, that Fort Donelson has fallen.  After a struggle, desperate on both sides, and, as far as my be judged from the imperfect details which have reached us, creditable to the fighting qualities of both, the post capitulated, and the National colors took the place, on the ramparts, of the rebel rag.  The destruction of life and the lists of wounded are probably largely in excess of those of any previous contest of the war.  It could hardly be otherwise.  The opposing forces were strong in numbers, but while the assailants were more perilously exposed, the defenders, from their very numbers, cooped up as they were in lines where they were helpless to fight, and simply in the way of each other, must have suffered frightfully from the storm of shell and shot hurled upon them from that circumvallation of fire.  It was doubtless the terrible sacrifice of life to which they were subjected within the fort that prompted these daring sorties which the besiegers so gallantly repulsed.

Having this glorious result of the fight, we may well postpone the discussion of details.  With the capture of Fort Donelson, another of those mortal blows recently struck at the heart of the rebellion has been inflicted.  Nor are we to lose sight of the fact that nearly all of these victories come from the command of Gen. HALLECK.  Fort Henry captured, the loyalty of Tennessee brought to light, the surrender if Fort Donelson, the retreat of PRICE, from Springfield, and the report of this morning that CURTIS had overtaken his rear, had seized his baggage-train and more prisoners that he knew what to do with, show with what energy and how victoriously the commander of the Western Department is executing his part of the great programme.  These, with the retreat of JOHNSTON from before BUELL, relieve, practically, both Missouri and Kentucky from the rebel enemy, and lay bare the Tennessee  to the admission of these Union armies which shall bring liberation to its oppressed but loyal people.

While the war in the West is thus drawing to a close, the signs are not less significant in the East.  There is little doubt that in North Carolina, South Carolina and Georgia, our forces are at this moment executing flank movements to the interior, which must effectually isolate the main rebel army in Eastern Virginia from its sources of supply.  It is clearly improbable for the rebels to hold their position at Manassas.  Their retreat must be a question of a few days—perhaps of a few hours.  There is but one reason for the evacuation of Bowling Green that is not valid for the evacuation of Manassas, and it is that no division of the Potomac army has been thrown forward to threaten an attack.  But such a threat is no longer necessary.  The news that Fort Donelson is in National hands; that the Tennessee river is open to our gunboats even to Muscle Shoals in Alabama; that the Cumberland can now be ascended to Nashville; that Memphis is in danger, and that the garrison of Columbus are for all practical purposes prisoners of war, must give that shock to the rebels near Washington which shall leave to its leaders an only alternative of withdrawing their army, or seeing it dissolve.  A retreat will be begun, but where will it end? Nowhere, we conceive short of the Gulf States.  The only pause at Richmond will probably be to witness the gloomy pageant of JEFF. DAVIS inaugurated as President, like a King crowned on his death-bed, or the succession of a Byzantine Emperor, when Byzantium itself was beleaguered and stormed by the Turks.  It will be in the Gulf States that the last stand of the rebels will be attempted.  But there our lines are already drawn tightly about them.  We hold the coast.  The blockade is pinchingly close.  What our gunboats and mortar-boats have done East and West they can do for every river and harbor on the Gulf.  Our troops will escape from the mud and the frosts of the Border States, to a theater of war, where for months to come the temperature is that of our Northern Summer, and where roads are settled, and military movements facile.  Indeed, of the resistance of the desperate traitors can be protracted through the Summer, a campaign in July and August would convey no discomfort to those who have experienced similar heats in our own latitudes; for the steady Southern Summer is far less intolerable that the varying temperatures of the North.

It is no extravagance, therefore, to say the rebellion has culminated.  Its settling must be as the flash of a meteor.  Had the illusory stimulus of the apparent victories of Bull Run and Ball’s Bluff been wanting; and had the certainty of the non-interference of France and England been earlier attained, the result must have been early reached.  After this, it certainly can[no]t be materially postponed.  The monster is already clutched and in his death struggle.

SOURCE: “The Victory on the Cumberland—The End in Sight,” The New York Times, New York, New York, Monday, February 17, 1862, p. 4.

Lieutenant John William Grout

Lieutenant John William Grout, the subject of “The Vacant Chair,” was the only son of Jonathan and Mary Jane Grout, and was born in Worcester, Massachusetts, July 25th, 1843. His father was a successful business man, and the son enjoyed the excellent educational advantages given to the young in that enterprising city. He was a bright boy, and a favorite of his playmates, by whom he was familiarly known as Willie Grout. It soon was evident that he was by nature endowed with rare gifts, physically and mentally.

“Of medium stature and symmetrical proportions, erect carriage and remarkably fine and manly features, and with elastic vigor and the glow of health, he might have been selected as a model by an artist.”

The photograph herewith given, which was taken just before his departure for the war, is an excellent likeness of his personal presence. He was a diligent student, and mastered easily subjects to which his attention was given; but he turned with special interest to history, in its relation to nations, and their conflicts one with another. He seemed to have been born for a military life; and inherited undoubtedly a love for the camp from his ancestors. “He was of the sixth generation from John of Sudbury, who was a grandson of an English Knight, and who distinguished himself for his heroism in leading his townsmen triumphantly against the assaults of the Indians in 1676, — for which he was rewarded with a Captaincy, then a substitute for Knighthood in England.”

It was early a question what profession in life he should follow, — a matter which was not settled till he entered the Highland School in his native city, where in the Military Department his wishes were gratified. He joined the company of Cadets, and soon became its commander. Hardly had his [ambition] been thus gratified, when the Civil War became the all-absorbing matter of interest to the people.

No one was quicker than he to see that 11 is hour had come, and he desired at once to enter the army; but his parents withheld their consent for a while, chiefly on account of his youth, for he had barely attained the age when his country could legally claim his services. When however, they yielded to his importunity, his joy knew no bounds; and with all the ardor of his nature he began preparations for the service before him, such as sleeping on the floor to inure himself to the hardships of life in camp.

When the Massachusetts 15th Regiment was organized, he received the commission of second lieutenant of Company D, — an honor rarely bestowed upon so young a person. He was very popular in the regiment. His knowledge of military tactics was such that his services as a drillmaster were in constant demand.

“He assured his friends, not with buoyant rashness, but with serious candor, that he had girded on his armor for all the emergencies of war, and for victory or death. He seemed to feel the solemnities as well as the [responsibilities] of his position, but never faltered in his purpose, or in the duties he was [subsequently] called to discharge.

“It was the fortune of the Massachusetts 15th Regiment to do the greatest execution, and suffer the greatest loss, in that disastrous conflict at Ball's Bluff, October 21, 1861.”

The coolness, self-possession, and courage of Lieutenant Grout were noticed by his comrades with astonishment, and greatly stimulated the courage of others. When the day was lost, and they were forced to retreat to the river, he seemed to be utterly regardless of himself in his desire to have the wounded conveyed to the opposite shore. To his honor let it ever be remembered that he crossed the stream with a boat-load of the sufferers, and seeing them safely landed, returned to render like assistance to others; and continued so to do till he was obliged to plunge into the stream to save his own life. He had reached the middle of the river when he exclaimed to a comrade at his side, “Tell Company D I could have reached the shore, but I am shot, and must sink;” and as the waters closed over him, his spirit took its flight from the throes and conflicts of earth.

When his death was announced, Col. Devens with deep emotion said, “Dear little fellow; he came to me at the close of the battle and said, ‘Colonel, can I do anything more for you?’ and I replied, ‘Nothing but take care of yourself.’”

For several weeks the Potomac held his body in its embrace, to be finally surrendered to loving hands, from whence it was tenderly borne to his native city for burial.

The heart of the old Commonwealth had never known a sadder day than when his remains, under the escort of the Highland Cadets, attended by the mayor and both branches of the city government, Col. Devens, and a large concourse of sympathizing citizens, were taken to the cemetery for interment.

Many tears were mingled with the volleys fired over the grave of the hero, who, at the early age of eighteen, fell a voluntary sacrifice upon the altar of his country.

SOURCE: Henry Stevenson Washburn , The Vacant Chair and Other Poems, p. 15-18

Speech of Senator Charles Sumner in the United States Senate, December 18, 1861

Some days ago I called the attention of the Senate to abuses in Missouri with reference to fugitive slaves. Since then I have received a great many communications from that State showing very great interest in the question, some of them in the nature of protest against the system which has been adopted there. One of these purports to come from a slave owner, himself educated in a slave State, and he speaks with great bitterness of the indignity that has been put upon the Army there, and of the injury that it has done to the cause of the Union. Another letter from another person contains a passage which I shall read:

“I wish to say in addition that I have lived twenty-four years in Missouri, that I know the people well, have served them in various offices, and let me assure you it is nonsense to try to save Missouri to the Union and the institution of slavery also. We must give up one or the other. Slavery ought to fall and Missouri be saved. Frémont's army struck terror into the secessionists. He made them feel it by taking their goods and chattels. Let our armies proclaim freedom to the slaves of the secessionists, and the rebellion will soon close. We can take care of the free negroes at a future day. Give General Lane ten thousand men, and he would establish peace in Missouri in thirty days.”

But, sir, my especial object now is not to call attention to this abuse in Missouri, but to call attention to this abuse here near at home. Brigadier General Stone, the well-known commander at Ball's Bluff, is now adding to his achievements there by engaging ably and actively in the work of surrendering fugitive slaves. He does this, sir, most successfully. He is victorious when the simple question is whether a fugitive slave shall be surrendered to a rebel.

Sir, besides my general interest in this question, besides my interest in the honor of the national Army, I have a special interest at this moment because Brigadier General Stone has seen fit to impose this vile and unconstitutional duty upon Massachusetts troops. The Governor of my State has charged me with a communication to the Secretary of War on this subject, complaining of this outrage, treating it as an indignity to the men, and as an act unworthy of our national flag. I agree with the Governor of Massachusetts; and when I call attention to this abuse now, I make myself his representative, as also the representative of my own opinions.

But there are others besides the Governor of Massachusetts who complain. There are two German companies in one of the Massachusetts regiments who, when they enlisted, entered into the public service with the positive understanding that they should not be put to any such discreditable and unconstitutional service. Sir, they complain, and with them their own immediate fellow-citizens at home, the German population generally throughout the country.

Nor is this all. The complaint extends to other quarters. I have here a letter from a citizen of Philadelphia, from which I shall read a short extract. The writer says:

“I have but one son, and he fought at Ball's Bluff, in the California regiment, where his bravery brought him into notice. He escaped, wounded, after dark. He protests against being made to return fugitive slaves, and if ordered to that duty will refuse obedience and take the consequences. I ask, sir, shall our sons, who are offering their lives for the preservation of our institutions, be degraded to slave-catchers for any persons, loyal or disloyal? If such is the policy of the Government, I shall urge my son to shed no more blood for its preservation.”

With these communications which I have received, some of an official character and others of a private character, I have felt that I should not do my duty if I did not call the attention of the Senate to this outrage. It must be arrested. I am glad to know that my friend and colleague, the chairman of the Committee on Military Affairs, promises us at once a bill to meet this grievance. It ought to be introduced promptly, and to be passed at once. Our troops ought to be saved from this shame.

SOURCE: John C. Rives, The Congressional Globe: Containing the Debates and Proceedings of the Second Session of the Thirty-Seventh Congress, p. 130

Diary of Edward Bates: Tuesday, October 22, 1861

Cabinet Council

Present all. Capt Cravens¹¹ U. S. N. commanding Flotilla in the Potomac, reports great progress made by the rebels with their batteries along the river — stretching from Matthias’ point¹² up — at intervals, for more than 25 miles, and having at the different places, at least 40 heavy guns — so as, in fact to command the river. Two of his vessels are between their strongest batteries, and opposite Acquia Creek.¹³

The Capt says — judging by the camp fires — that the enemy is increasing his force below, near the batteries, every day — Each night there are more and more fires, and less in the region of Occoquan.¹⁴ He thinks they are preparing to pass over into Maryland.

If that be so, they are growing desperate in their present position; and if we let them cross it is our folly and crime. The fact that we allow them to obstruct the river is our deep disgrace.

There was some discussion about the battle near Leesburg¹⁵ yesterday and last night — a most unsatisfactory affair.

Baker's¹⁶ brigade was driven back with great loss. Baker and several other high officers were killed — the total loss not known but supposed from 2 to 300. McClellan¹⁷ was to go up in person.

< I hear tonight that a large part of our force has passed the river— both Banks¹⁸ and Stone¹⁹ are on the Va. side and I do and [sic] not doubt that the most strenuous efforts will be made to press the enemy, for our Generals are I think by this time, (besides other motives) heartily ashamed of inaction and inefficiency — the weather is very bad for active operations, by reason of constant rain last night and today, still I expect hard fighting. >

Another subject in C.[abinet] C.[ouncil] was the vexed question of the recall of Genl. Fremont. The report of Adj't. Genl. Thomas,²⁰ made by direction of the Sec of War put it, I thought, beyond all question that the removal must be made and instantly — The President seemed to think so, and said it was now clear that Fremont was not fit to for the command — that Hunter²¹ was better — Still, at the very pinch, the Sec of State, came again, as twice before, to the rescue — and urged delay — “not today, put it off a little” — The idea (gotten by Mr. Chase from Dr. Eliot²²) seemed to be that the Army was devoted to Fremont and had full confidence in him! while the evidence to the contrary is overwhelming — Hunter and Curtis²³ openly declared it — as stated in Adjutant Genl. Thomas' report, and as far as I know, none actively support him, but his own pet officers and contractors — Yet strange! both Cameron and Chase gave in and timidly yielded to delay; and the President still hangs in painful and mortyfying [sic] doubt. His suffering is evidently great, and if it were not connected with a subject so momentous, would be ludicrous.

I spoke as heretofore, plainly, urging the Prest. to avoid the timorous and vacillating course that could but degrade the Adm[inistratio]n. and make it weak and helpless — to assume the powers of his place and speak in the language of command. Not to send an order clogged with conditions and provisos — send a positive order or none at all. To leave him there now would be worse than prompt removal — for you have degraded him before the world and thereby unfitted him for the command, if otherwise capable — You have countermanded his orders,²⁴ repudiated his contracts and denounced his contractors, suspended his officers and stopped the progress of his

fortifications — If under these circumstances we still keep him in command, the public will attribute the fact to a motive no higher than our fears. For me — I think too well of the soldiers and the people, to be afraid of any Major General in the Army. I protested against having my State sacrificed on such motives and in such a cause.

Still I fear he will be allowed to hang on until he drops in very rottenness. And if we persist in this sort of impotent indecision, we are very likely to share his fate — and, worse than all, deserve it.

_______________

¹² Spelled “Mathias.” A village thirty miles below Washington.

¹³ A river-port at the outlet of a deep tidal channel about fifty-five miles below Washington. It was the terminus of a railroad from Richmond.

¹⁴ A village about six miles up the Occoquan River from where it flows into the Potomac not far below Mount Vernon.

¹⁵ The Battle of Ball's Bluff where the Union force was disastrously defeated when General Stone, under misinformation about the enemy, actually crossed the Potomac into Virginia instead of making a feint of doing so.

¹⁶ Supra, Oct. 12, 1859, note 9. He had raised a regiment of volunteers and, though still senator, had led a brigade at Leesburg.

¹⁷ George B. McClellan, West Point graduate of 1846, served in Mexico, on the Pacific Coast, and in Europe, but resigned in 1857 to become chief engineer and later vice-president of the Illinois Central Railroad. When the War came, he was given command of the Department of the Ohio with the rank of major-general. After the Battle of Bull Run he commanded the Army of the Potomac until political considerations and his constitutional unwillingness to attack led Lincoln to remove him in November, 1862. He became the candidate of the combined opposition to Lincoln in 1864 and ran for the Presidency as a man who could secure both peace and union — Lincoln seemed to have sacrificed both — but he ran on a platform that seemed to urge peace even at the cost of union, and was defeated.

¹⁸ See supra, July 27, 1859, note 57. At this time Banks was serving as major-general of volunteers in the Department of the Shenandoah.

¹⁹ Charles P. Stone, graduate of West Point in 1845, had served in the Mexican War and on the Pacific Coast until he resigned in 1856. At the outbreak of the War he was put in command of the District of Columbia. His disaster at Balls Bluff led him to ask a Court of Inquiry, but McClellan exonerated him and the matter was dropped until he was suddenly arrested in February, 1862. See infra, Nov. 1, 1861, note 28.

²⁰ Supra, Oct. 1, 1861, note 9.

²¹ David Hunter, graduate of West Point in 1822, had served in Mexico and on the frontier, had commanded the main column at Bull Run, and was now serving as major-general of volunteers in Missouri under Fremont whom he succeeded on November 2.

²² Supra, Feb. 22, 1860, note 79.

²³ Samuel R. Curtis: West Point graduate of 1831; civil engineer in the West; lawyer of Keokuk, Iowa, 1855-1861; Republican congressman, 1857-1861 ; member of the Peace Convention of 1861; at this time brigadier-general in the Department of the West. He commanded the Department of the Missouri, 1862-1863, the Department of Kansas, 1864-1865, the Department of the Northwest, 1865.

²⁴ Lincoln, after first giving Fremont a chance to recall it himself, had countermanded his order of emancipation of the slaves and confiscation of the property of all Missourians who took up arms against the United States. Lincoln also forbade him to carry out his order to shoot as traitors, after a trial by court martial, all Missourians found with arms in their hands.

SOURCE: Howard K, Beale, Editor, The Diary of Edward Bates, 1859-1866, p. 197-9

Diary of Brigadier-General William F. Bartlett: Friday, October 21, 1864

Put my leg on this morning, not very comfortable yet Three years ago to-day, Ball's Bluff. Wrote Dr. J. Monroe, 560 Hudson St., New York, about his leg.

SOURCE: Francis Winthrop Palfrey, Memoir of William Francis Bartlett, p. 147

Diary of John Hay: October 27, 1861

We went over to Seward's to-night and found Chandler and Wade there. They had been talking to Seward to get up a battle, saying that one must be fought; saying that defeat was no worse than delay, and a great deal more trash. Morton and Speed then began to growl about their guns. Seward and the President soon dried that up. Wilson came in, a strong, healthy, hearty, senator, soldier and man. He was bitter on the Jacobins, saying the safety of the country demanded that the General should have his time. Going up to McClellan’s the Leesburg business was discussed; McC. saying that Stone’s report would be in to-morrow; every one forebore comment.

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 49-50; Tyler Dennett, Lincoln and the Civil War in the Diaries and Letters of John Hay, p. 32.

Diary of John Hay: October 22, 1861

This has been a heavy day. Last night Col. Baker was killed at Leesburg at the head of his Brigade. McClellan and the President talked sadly over it. McClellan said, "There is many a good fellow that wears the shoulder-straps going under the sod before this thing is over. There is no loss too great to be repaired. If I should get knocked on the head, Mr. President, you will put another man immediately into my shoes." "I want you to take care of yourself," said the President.

McClellan seemed very hopeful and confident — thought he had the enemy, if in force or not. We left him making arrangements for the morrow. (During this evening's conversation, it became painfully evident that he had no plan, nor the slightest idea of what Stone was about).

To-night we went over again. M^c was at Poolesville. Telegraphs that loss is heavy and that troops behaved well. All right in that quarter.

At Seward’s to-night the President talked about Secession, Compromise, and other such. He spoke of a committee of southern pseudo-unionists coming to him before Inauguration for guaranties, etc. He promised to evacuate Sumter if they would break up their Convention, without any row or nonsense. They demurred. Subsequently he renewed proposition to Summers, but without any result. The President was most anxious to prevent bloodshed.

I never heard secession made more absurd than by the conversation of to-night; Seward, Chase, Kennedy and Bishop McIlvaine.

To-day Deputy-Marshal came and asked what he should do with process to be served on Porter in contempt business. I took him over to Seward, and Seward said:

“The President instructs you that the Habeas Corpus is suspended in this city at present, and forbids you to serve any process upon any officer here." Turning to me: "That is what the President says, is it not, Mr. Hay?" "Precisely his words," I replied; and the thing was done.

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 46-7; Tyler Dennett, Lincoln and the Civil War in the Diaries and Letters of John Hay, p. 30-1.

John L. Motley to Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr., August 31, 1862

Vienna, August 31, 1862.

My Dear Holmes: Bare, bare, bare of news, events, objects of the slightest interest to you or any one else, what need have I to apologize for silence? Naked, but not ashamed, I involve myself in my virtue, while you, if, like kind fortune, you will still wag your swift pen at me, — si celerem quatis pennam, — will find me ever grateful, or even trying to be resigned if you do not. I have not written for about four months. Even to my little Mary I am obliged now to write themes instead of letters. By this mail I send her one “on the advantages of silence.” If you should happen to meet her, ask her to show it to you that you may see to what a depth of imbecility your old friend has descended. I have yours of the 27th of April and the 20th of June. I am deeply grateful for them. I have just been reading them both over, and you will be glad to know that now, after the lapse of fifty years, which is about the distance from the first date at the rate we are living at, there is no false coloring, no judgment turned inside out, no blundering prophecy, no elation or no despondency which subsequent events have come to rebuke.

Writing as you do to me out of the kindness of your heart and the fullness of your head, you willingly run the risk of making blunders for the sake of giving me, in your vivid and intense way, a rapid image of the passing moment. I strain my eyes across the Atlantic through the stereoscope you so kindly provide me, and for an instant or two I am with you. I think very often of your Wendell. He typifies so well to me the metamorphosis of young America from what it was in our days. Consule Planco. There, within less than a twelvemonth after leaving college, the young poet, philosopher, artist, has become a man, robustus acri militia puer, has gone through such scenes as Ball's Bluff, Fair Oaks, and the seven days before Richmond, and, even while I write, is still engaged, perchance, in other portentous events, and it is scarcely a year since you and I went together to the State House to talk with the governor about his commission. These things would hardly be so startling if it was the mere case of a young man entering the army and joining a marching regiment. But when a whole community suddenly transmutes itself into an army, and the “stay-at-home rangers” are remembered on the fingers and pointed at with the same, what a change must be made in the national character!

Pfui liber den Buben

Hinter den Ofen,

Hinter den Sttthlen,

Hinter den Sophen,

as the chivalrous Koerner sang.

I had a very well-written letter the other day from a young cousin of mine, Julius Lothrop by name, now serving as sergeant in the Massachusetts Twenty-fourth. I need not say how I grieved to hear that Lowell had lost another nephew, and a near relative to your wife, too. You mentioned him in your very last letter as having gained health and strength by his campaigning. There is something most touching in the fact that those two youths, Putnam and Lowell, both scions of our most honored families, and both distinguished among their equals for talent, character, accomplishment, and virtue, for all that makes youth venerable, should have been among the earliest victims of this infernal conspiracy of slaveholders. I know not if such a thought is likely to comfort the mourners, but it is nevertheless most certain that when such seed is sown the harvest to be reaped by the country will be almost priceless. Of this I entertain no doubt whatever. God knows I was never an optimist, but in the great result of this tremendous struggle I can foresee nothing but good. The courage and the determination of both sides being equal, the victory must be to the largest army and navy and the longest purse.

What has so long held back the imprisoned power of the North during all these dreary years of the slave domination of our Republic was, after all, a moral principle. It was pushed to excess till it became a vice, but it was still the feeling of patriotism and an exaggerated idea of public faith. There is even a lingering band or two to be broken yet before the great spirit of the North is completely disenthralled. But I hope I am not mistaken in thinking that they have become weaker than packthread.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, editor, The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley in Two Volumes, Library Edition, Volume 2, p. 276-9

Major Charles Fessenden Morse: June 22, 1863

Near Leesburg, June 22, 1863.

I wrote a short note yesterday to let you know my whereabouts and relieve any anxiety you might feel for me; to-day I'll try to give you a few particulars of our movements.*

Friday, the 12th, I left headquarters, ease and luxury. The regiment was still away with the cavalry. However, the camp was standing and about sixty men and two or three officers were there who had been left behind for various reasons, so I had a small command.

That night, orders came to march at daylight. We moved back about three miles towards Acquia Creek, stayed there through the day, and at night started forward again and marched till eight the following morning, halting this side of Dumfries. Sunday, we rested all day while the train of our corps and the Sixth passed by. Monday, we started at three in the morning and marched twenty-three miles under a burning sun to Fairfax C. H., getting into camp about ten P. M. This was a really terrible march; the day was very hot and a great part of the time we were marching side by side with a column of wagons, which raised a dust that was almost choking. Next morning, Tuesday, about eight, the Second Massachusetts and Third Wisconsin made their appearance from their cavalry excursion; they marched into camp covered with dust and dirt, but looking soldierly as ever. All the regiments of the corps that were near by turned out to have a look at them and give them very hearty greetings, for the two old regiments are now pretty well known in the corps.

I had a very pleasant time hearing the accounts of the fight at Beverly Ford; all seemed to think that if they had to fight cavalry only till the end of the war, they would have a very jolly time. Whenever our infantry skirmishers made their appearance, the cavalry left in a hurry, showing a great respect for our Enfields.

A company of the Second and one of the Third Wisconsin, made an attack on about two hundred of the enemy's cavalry who were dismounted and lying behind a stone wall firing their carbines; our men, not numbering more than forty in all, fired one volley, then made a rush, capturing over twenty and finding, at least, as many killed by their shots. Wednesday morning, we marched again to near Drainsville. Thursday, we marched again, reaching Leesburg towards night. All of the corps, except our regiment and the Third Wisconsin with a battery of artillery, remained east of the town; we kept on a mile farther and occupied a fort and strong position on one of the Katoctin Hills.

We are still in this same position, how long to remain, no one here knows. Our army lies stretched away for a number of miles towards Thoroughfare Gap, the Eleventh Corps occupying an important position on our right, its flank touching the Potomac.

We can only surmise whether Lee will attack us here or not; he is moving somewhere in our front but not very near. We have at last had a severe rain storm and the weather is more comfortable. It hailed for about an hour very severely; the hailstones were, at least, as large as rifle bullets; I was riding at the time and could hardly force my horse against the storm; he would rear and kick, and didn't seem to understand at all what was going on.

The battle that I spoke of yesterday proves to have been quite a success for us; we drove the rebels three miles and captured three guns and some prisoners. Our wagon camp is on the field where Ball’s Bluff was fought. I am in command of the regiment now, Major Mudge being on Court Martial. I don’t see anything of my commission yet.

_______________

* The writer had been promoted to be Major of his regiment but had not yet received his commission.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 139-41

Major Wilder Dwight: Saturday Evening, November 23, 1861

Head-quarters Second Massachusetts Regiment,

Camp near Seneca, Nov. 23, 1861, Saturday Evening.

Yours of the 19th is in my pocket. The evening has passed pleasantly under its influence. The camp is fast falling asleep.

I last wrote you just after dinner on Thanksgiving day. The rest of the day went glibly enough. In the evening the men had a brisk dance to the music of the band, and the next morning there were fewer sick men than for two weeks before. Gladness and gayety are good medicines. Friday was a very busy day with me. Among its morning incidents was a visit to Generals Hamilton and Williams. General Williams quite won my affection by saying, apropos of the review, “The Massachusetts Second is the best volunteer regiment in the service.” “A man of sense,” was my echo. Our two new lieutenants, Grafton and Shelton, appeared yesterday, and were assigned to duty the next day. They were eager for duty, and promise well. Give Charley the stockings for his men by all means. I rejoice in his effort and success. I am amused to see that the London Times compares Ball's Bluff to Braddock's defeat. That was my first exclamation. A regular Braddock's defeat! Who was the Braddock? . . . .

I do not expect to come home at all. While there is anything to do here, I certainly shall not come. Indeed, I do not think I desire it. Three years or the war, was my enlistment; and I am willing to stay with my regiment while it lasts. . . . .

This morning's inspection took about two hours. It was a thorough one and satisfactory. We have church this afternoon, unless it rains, as it threatens to do.

For one, I have no sympathy with the prisoners at Fort Warren. I desire that all benevolence and sympathy may flow to our loyal soldiers, whose hardship is quite as great. As for Mason and Slidell, the joke is so good, so practical, so retributive. I admire the calm irony with which Mr. Everett wishes them a short residence at Fort Warren. That is clever and bright, and politely severe

I predicted church when I was writing this morning. Lo it is evening, and the ground white with snow! So winter steals upon us, and we have a snow-storm instead of divine service. Well, camp life has its variety, and is not always same. I confess, as I look out through the flapping door of my tent, I think it looks as little like invading the South as any scene I ever looked on. White and heavy falls the snow, — I hope on the unjust as well as the just, on both sides the Potomac! Now's the time for mittens with no holes in the thumbs I have quite a long letter from ——. She is full of the glory and spectacle aspect of the army and the war, her visit to Washington having taught her all about armies. I could give her a few practical lessons that would unidealize her abruptly. Never mind, to be illusionée is to be happy.

I hope, in view of the dread you express of my going to Charleston, where they fight “without giving quarter,” you will be pleased at the imminent prospect there seems to be that we shall be snowed into Maryland till spring. However, the weather is so fickle, we may have bright sunshine to-morrow.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 155-7

Major Wilder Dwight: November 16, 1861

camp Near Seneca, November 16, 1861.

The difference between our actions in this war seems to be, that we don't half do our Ball's Bluffs, and we do half do our Port Royals. Fruit ripe in South Carolina, and no one to pick it. That's the way I read the news from the scene of our late success. Where are the next twenty thousand troops? They should be within an hour's sail of Port Royal. Is it a sagacious military conjecture, that a victory at that point would strike terror and panic to the neighboring cities? If so, should not that conjecture have anticipated the result of which we are just beginning to hear? Should it not have provided a force to enjoy and intensify that panic? I know of a whole division, which, instead of shivering in the mud of Maryland, would gladly be pursuing a panic-stricken multitude with fire and sword. Why not? Of course, we are much in the dark, but my guess is, that twenty thousand good soldiers could to-day enter either Charleston or Savannah. If they could not occupy and hold, they could burn and destroy. “Rebels and Traitors,” I would head my proclamation. Not “Carolinians and Fellow-citizens.” Not peace, but the sword. There is cotton to tempt avarice, negroes to tempt philanthropy, Rebels to tempt patriotism, — everything to warrant a great risk. As I read the Southern accounts, they seem to me to indicate the presence of panic. From that, I infer a weak and exposed condition. We shall leave them time to recover their courage, and strengthen their defences. I do not know what is possible to our “Great Country,” but, possible or impossible, I would pour an avalanche on that shore forthwith.

You see that reflection and conjecture are the only amusements of our rainy days. So I must fill my letters with guesses and hopes. I advise you to read McClellan's Reviewof the War in the Crimea. One could wish that his pen were free to criticise his own campaign. Could he not expose, here and there, a blunder? Perhaps the answer is, It is not his campaign.

My new man arrived last night, very unexpectedly to himself, apparently; for he seemed to find obscurity enveloping his path, and to think his advance to this point a great success.

He brought letters which delighted me. It was mail night, and I had no mail till John came with his budget. Father seems to speak stoically of “a long war.” What it may be mismanaged into I cannot say, but, decently managed, it cannot be a long war. The disasters and embarrassments which will follow in its train will be long enough; the war itself short and desperate, I hope.

There is something ludicrous in writing so quietly on calm, white paper, without expressing at all the roaring, whistling, wintry surroundings of my present scene. Our yesterday's rain has cleared off cold. Real winter this morning. Ice in the wash-basin, numbness in the fingers, frost from the breath. I rejoice in the invigorating turn that the weather has taken. I feel myself much better for it, and I know it must improve the health and vigor of the camp. But the howling blast is a stern medicine, and even now it shakes my tent so that my pen trembles. I should like you to have seen the picture our camp presented at reveillé this morning. I purposely went out without my overcoat, and walked leisurely down the line, as if I were fanned by the zephyrs of June. I wished to have the men observe that I recognized nothing unusual in our first taste of winter. Still, in point of fact, it was cold. Now drill is going on without overcoats. I told them they must double-quick if they were cold. The only way is, to hold things up to the sharp line under all circumstances. It will be a little hard to keep up the illusion all winter, I fear, however. Still, everything requires bracing up constantly. The virtue of this military life is the importunate recurrence of daily duty. Rain or shine, health or sickness, joy or grief, reveillé knocks “ӕquo pede” with impartial cadence at every tent. Its lively and awakening beat thrills a new life through the camp, as the rising sun whitens the glowing east. And then when tattoo at evening awakes the men to sleep (for it is not a soothing strain), “duty performed” has made them happy, or should have done so, on the authority of the great expounder of the Constitution himself. Such are the consolations of camp life in November. But then, as Dr. Hedge happily observes in a discourse on “National Weakness,” “the Rebel power is still unsubdued; the harvest is passed, the summer is ended, and we are not saved.” True, but we are not lost. We propose in the Massachusetts Second to keep Thanksgiving day thankfully, if not for what has happened, at least for what has not happened. I have just sent out an order for the provision of Thanksgiving dinners for the men. And I quite expect that turkey and plum-pudding will smoke on our mess-pans and exhale from our ovens on Thursday next. I could be content to be at home on that day, but, failing that, I shall enjoy an attempt to extemporize and emulate a New England Thanksgiving in a Maryland camp on the wrong bank of the Potomac. We shall read the Thanksgiving Proclamation, and be as happy as we may. I suppose you will have your usual celebration. I expect to enjoy the unusual honor to come in among the absent friends. . . . .

The pleasure of reading your last letter was somewhat alloyed, I confess, by the pervading strain of eulogy of my own letters. It is all nonsense. The story is a very good one, perhaps; the telling it is nothing; and as for “historical value,” you just wait. Our little events will not be a paragraph in the record which ought to be and must be written.

Father closes his last letter with the very kind wish that he knew what to send me. I happen to be able to tell him, — viz. a little nice English breakfast tea. A good honest cup of black tea would delight me. If you should find that Colonel Gordon has not gone back before this reaches you, pray make him the bearer of a small package of tea.

I see by to-night's Clipper (it is Saturday evening while I write), that a delegation from Baltimore goes to ask the President for government patronage for the repentant city. This fulfils a prediction I had the honor to make. I see, also, that the landing of our force at Beaufort was a scene of disorder and confusion. That comes of sending the rawest troops to the hardest duty. I am puzzled to know why this is done to such an alarming extent. But tattoo is just beating. It is a raw and gusty night. The air bites shrewdly. I think I will leave that puzzle unsolved, and get within the warm folds of my constant buffalo-robe. Good night. Grandmother will be pleased to hear, before I go to bed, that with one of her blankets I have just made Captain Mudge warm and comfortable in a little attack of illness which has just overtaken him. The soft blanket will be as good as the Doctor's medicine, — better, perhaps. . . . .

I have just room to bid you good morning, this Sunday morning. I am just ready for inspection, and have no doubt the day will work itself off quietly and pleasantly.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 144-7

Major Wilder Dwight: November 1, 1861

muddy Branch Camp, Camp Near Seneca,

November 1, 1861.

You have your choice of dates, for I think our camp lies between the two, and General Banks uses the former designation for the division, while General Abercrombie uses the latter for his brigade. I hope that we shall cease to have occasion to use either date before the traditional Thanksgiving day overtakes us. Unless we do, it will find us in the wilderness, and in fasting and humiliation. I look to see ripeness in these late autumn days, and I hope that, without shaking the tree of Providence, some full-grown events may gravitate rapidly to their ripe result, even in this ill-omened month of November. Your letter of Monday takes too dark a view of events. I can well understand that, at your distance, our hardships and trials look harder than they seem to us. I do not, in the least, despair of happy results, and the more I think of the Edward's Ferry, or loon-roads, or Conrad's Ferry mishap (or, to describe it alliteratively, the blunder of Ball's Bluff), the more clearly it seems to me to be an insignificant blunder on the out skirts of the main enterprise, which, except for the unhappy loss of life, and except as a test of military capacity, is now a part of the past, without any grave consequences to follow. I was well aware that, in writing my first letter, I should give you the vivid, and possibly the exaggerated impressions of the sudden and immediate presence of the disaster. The wreck of a small yacht is quite as serious to the crew as the foundering of the Great Eastern. But the underwriters class the events very differently. And in our national account of loss, Ball's Bluff will take a modest rank.

Should the naval expedition prove a success, and should the Army of the Potomac strike its blow at the opportune moment, we can forget our mishap. You see I am chasing again the butterflies of hope. Without them life wouldn't be worth the living.

Tell father I have read the pleasant sketch of Soldiers and their Science, which he sent me. I wish he would get me the book itself, through Little and Brown, and also “Crawford's Standing Orders,” and send them on by express. This coming winter has got to be used in some way, and I expect to dedicate a great part of it to catching up with some of these West Point officers in the commonplaces of military science.

We are quietly in camp again, and are arranging our camping-ground with as much neatness and care as if it were to be permanent. The ovens have been built, the ground cleared, the stumps uprooted, and now the air is full of the noise of a large party of men who are clearing off the rubbish out of the woods about our tents. By Sunday morning our camp will look as clean and regular and military as if we had been here a month. Yesterday was the grand inspection and muster for payment. I wish you could have seen the regiment drawn up with its full equipment, — knapsacks, haversacks, and all. It was a fine sight. By the way, why does not father snatch a day or two, and come out to see us? We are only a pleasant morning's drive from Washington, and I think he would enjoy seeing us as we are in our present case. D––– would enjoy the trip, too, and they might also pay a visit to William down at Port Tobacco, or wherever he may now be. I throw out this suggestion.

To-day I am brigade officer of the day, and I have been in the saddle this morning three or four hours visiting the camps and the pickets on the river. It has been a beautiful morning of the Indian summer, and I have enjoyed it greatly. Colonel Andrews took cold and got over-fatigued during our last week's work, and he is quite down with a feverish attack. Yesterday I found a nice bed for him in a neighboring house, and this morning he is quite comfortable. We miss him very much in camp, and I hope he'll be up in a day or two

“Happy that nation whose annals are tiresome,” writes some one. “Lucky that major whose letters are dull,” think you, I suppose. That good fortune, if it be one, I now enjoy.

I have an opportunity to send this letter, and so off it goes, with much love to all at home, in the hope that you will keep your spirits up.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 133-5

Major Wilder Dwight: October 30, 1861

Camp Near Seneca, October 30, 1861.

We still keep the camping-ground in which we were when I last wrote, and we are enjoying the brightest of October days. There is a general impression that winter-quarters, or some such depressing movement, is to be the fate of the grand Army of the Potomac

Yesterday Captain Cary took a letter from Colonel Gordon to General Evans in command at Leesburg. The Colonel was a West Point friend of General Evans, and wrote to ask the fate of our friends of the Twentieth. Captain Cary took a white handkerchief on a stick as his flag of truce, and crossed the river in a skiff. He went up and down the river, but could find no picket anywhere. After wandering about with his flag for three hours, he came to a farm-house. The man was a Union man. He said he had been twice arrested, and refused to take the letter. He told Cary that he had seen no soldiers for a week, and thought there were none nearer than Leesburg, but he advised the Captain to go back, as he said his flag of truce would not be respected. Cary made up his mind to return. I confess I was very glad indeed to see him back, and considered the

expedition a very risky one. . . . .

We have a beautiful camping-ground here, and are getting it into perfect order for muster to-morrow. The last day of October is our semi-monthly muster and inspection.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 132-3