John H. Lumpkin* to Howell Cobb, November 13, 1846

Rome [ga.], 13th Nov., 1846.

Dear Cobb, Your letter of the 10th inst. was received by last night's mail. I agree with you that the Southern democracy have not redeemed their pledges to their Northern allies; that while we have contended for and obtained the whole of Texas, we have sacrificed and given up one half of our claim to Oregon — and this of itself is enough to account for the defeats that our friends have met with in Pa., N. Y., and other Northern and Northwestern States. But is this the cause of our disasters? I think not entirely. Indeed I incline to the opinion that our Northern allies are not prepared to support some of the cardinal measures of the Democratic party. With the Southern' portion of our party a tariff for revenue only is a cardinal principle, and we cannot consent to compromise this principle, even for success itself. But in Pennsylvania and in New York and some other states North and East this doctrine is repudiated by those who claim to be associated with us in principles. I need not inform you that such Democrats received no encouragement or countenance in the legislation of the last session of Congress. I am not surprised therefore that these men have been repudiated at home. In fact I rejoice that Whigs have superseded such Democrats as Dr. Leib, Yost, Black etc. etc., and for my part I had rather be in the minority than to be in the majority controlled by such men. The bill making appropriations for rivers and harbours caused a similar division among our own friends in different sections of the Union, and has likely contributed in some degree to these disastrous results. But shall we give up our opposition to protective tariff and to these extravagant appropriations on this account? By no means. Let us commence the contest anew and have nothing to do with any man or set of men who combine for our destruction; and if we have not the power to accomplish positive good, we may have power to prevent harm and prevent our destruction. Some of our warm and influential Democrats in this section of the State are disposed to censure the President and his Cabinet and attribute these results to the want of management in our Executive. I disagree with all such. I do not believe that Genl. Washington, or Genl. Jackson in his prime, could have directed the ship of state with more ability. Indeed, no man living or dead could have produced harmony and ensured success with such conflicting and discordant materials. I am amazed when I see what was accomplished at the last session, and can never censure the President for any of these disastrous results. I differ with the President in one point only, and that is purely a question of policies, and that is in regard to appointing men to office who do not agree with him in principle. I do not mean such as are politically opposed to him alone, but such as do not sustain the great, leading measures of his administration that are nominally identified with the Democratic party. More of this when we meet. I shall be with you in Augusta on the first. Mrs. L. unites with me in regards to Mrs. Cobb.

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*A leading Democrat of northwestern Georgia, Member of Congress, 1843-1849 and 1855-1857; judge of the superior court of Georgia (Cherokee circuit), 1849-1850; a close friend and voluminous correspondent of Howell Cobb.

SOURCE: Ulrich Bonnell Phillips, Editor, The Annual Report of the American Historical Association for the Year 1911, Volume 2: The Correspondence of Robert Toombs, Alexander H. Stephens, and Howell Cobb, p. 86-7

Thomas Wentworth Higginson, June 1859

Worcester, June, 1859

I got home from Pennsylvania on Friday morning. Whittier was in the same region a month before me and he said, “God might have made a more beautiful region than Chester County — but he never did.” A beautiful rolling country, luxuriant as Kansas and highly cultivated as Brookline; horses and cattle pasturing in rich clover fields; hedges of hawthorn; groves of oak, walnut, pine, and vast columnar tulip trees towering up to heaven and holding out their innumerable cups of nectar to the gods above the clouds; picturesque great houses of brick and stone, gabled and irregular, overgrown with honeysuckle and wistaria, and such a race of men and women as the “Quaker settlement” in “Uncle Tom” portrays. All farming country; no towns nearer the meeting-house than Westchester, nine miles off, and Wilmington (Delaware) twelve. Only little old taverns here and there, known through all the country as “The Red Lion,” “The Anvil,” and “The Hammer and Trowel.” Only three houses in sight from the meeting-house and twenty-five hundred vehicles collected round it on Sunday, with probably seven thousand people on the ground.

Almost all the people in the region were Quakers, and being dissatisfied with the conservative position held by that body on slavery and other matters, they have gradually come out from among them and formed a Yearly Meeting of Progressive Friends which retains little of the externals of Quakerism and all its spirit and life. The young people have abandoned the Quaker dress, as indeed they have done everywhere, but retain all the simplicity, kindness, and uprightness. So noble a people in body and mind, I never saw before. I never was in the presence of so many healthy-looking women, or so many good faces of either sex. Their mode of living is Virginian in its open-house hospitality; they say incidentally, “we happened to have thirty-five people in the house last night.” . . . I stayed at three different houses during my four days’ visit and might have stayed at thirty. I passed from house to house as through a series of triumphal arches and yet not from any merit supposed in myself, but simply because, as Conway wrote to them in a letter, “the earnest man is a king at Longwood; he finds friends and sumptuous entertainment wherever he turns. To say that they make one at home is nothing; one fears forgetfulness of all other homes.”

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

Do not imagine that these people are ignorant or recluse; they have much intercourse with people, especially with Philadelphia; the young people are well educated, and all take the “Atlantic.” One feels in cultivated society. Aunt Nancy will like to hear that Bayard Taylor originated there and is now building a house there; I saw his father's house; also that of John Agnew, where his beautiful bride lived and died. I saw John Agnew himself, a noble-looking old man, erect as an arrow. I saw the lovely Mary's daguerreotype, and her grave. They all speak well of B. T. and praise his simplicity, modesty, and love of home; I never had so pleasant an impression of him, and if you will read his spirited poem of the tulip tree you can imagine a Chester County for a background.

The little meeting-house was crowded — seven hundred or so; the rest of the Sunday crowd was collected outside and there was speaking in several places. I spoke on the steps. Other days the church held them all. There were morning and afternoon sessions, and at noon we picnicked under the trees every day. They discussed everything — Superstition, Slavery, Spiritualism, War, Marriage, Prisons, Property, etc. — each in turn, and uniting in little “testimonies” on them all, which will be printed. There were some other speakers from abroad beside myself, but none of much note. No long speeches and great latitude of remark, among the audience, commenting or rebuking in the friendliest way. “Friend, will thee speak a little louder? What thee says may be of no great importance, but we would like to judge for ourselves.” Or sometimes to the audience: “Have patience, friends, this old man (the speaker) is very conscientious.” Sometimes stray people, considerably demented, would stray in and speak; one erect old man, oddly dressed, who began and said, “My mother was a woman”: and then a long pause. It seemed a safe basis for argument. Of course, they all knew each other and called by their first names. One old oddity seemed to devote himself to keeping down the other people's excesses, and after two persons (strangers) had yielded to too much pathos in their own remarks, he mildly suggested that if the friends generally would get a good chest and each speaker henceforth lock up his emotions in it and lose the key, it would be a decided gain! There was one scene, quite pathetic, where one of the leading men announced that after great struggles he had given up tobacco — they rejoiced over him as a brand from the burning; it was most touching, the heartfelt gratitude which his wife expressed.

There was one park not far from the meeting-house which I have never seen equalled; the most English-looking place I ever saw — two avenues of superb pines and larches, leading down to a lake with other colonnades of deciduous trees at right angles. The house to which it belonged was buried in shrubs and bushes and surrounded by quaint outbuildings. At Hannah Cox's house, the most picturesque at which I stayed, there was a large wax plant in a pot, trained over much of the side of the house: this is seven years old and is taken in every fall and trained over the side of the room; and the thick leaves serve as registers of visitors' names, which have been scratched on them with a pin; some were dated 1851; I marked mine on two, lest one should fall. . . . Every time it is changed it takes five persons three hours to train it.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

I took tea one evening at the house of some singular Quaker saints . . . with a capacity for sudden outpourings of the Spirit in public meetings. ... In the old square house General Washington had been quartered and the neat old Quaker mother well remembered when the Hessian prisoners were marched through the city. The two sisters always talked together, as is usual in such cases, and when I walked them to the evening meeting, one on each arm, the eldest was telling a long story of her persecutions among the Orthodox Friends, and whenever the sister interrupted, the eldest would unhook her own arm from mine, for the purpose (as I at last discovered) of poking her sister's elbow and thus admonishing to silence. It was done so promptly and invariably that I was satisfied that it was the established habit of the family.

SOURCE: Mary Potter Thacher Higginson, Editor, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, 1846-1906, p. 72-77

Senator Salmon P. Chase to Senator Charles Sumner, September 9, 1852

Cincinnati, Sept. 9, 1852.

My Dear Sumner, I have read as well as heard your truly great speech. Hundreds of thousands will read it, and everywhere it will carry conviction to all willing to be convinced and will infuse a feeling of incertitude and a fearful looking for of judgment into the minds of those who resist the light and toil in the harness of party platforms irreconcilable with justice. Massachusetts deserves to lead the van of regenerated Democracy, for she has given to the cause its most faithful and eloquent champion. God bless the old Bay State: Amen.

I found Judge McLean reading your speech. He spoke of it with praise; but thought he had detected you in an error of fact in the paragraph where you speak of the Fugitive Slave clause of 1793 being introduced without much deliberation or [on?] previous occasion. He thought the correspondence between the Governors of Virginia & Pennsylvania & General Washington was in reference to a fugitive from labor; and seemed somewhat reluctant to admit my correction that it related to a fugitive from justice.

At my sister in law's I found her brother who is about to settle in Texas reading the speech to her aloud. I hope he will carry its truths with him.

Our friends in Ohio are in good spirits; and the vote for Hale & Julian will be respectable — not so great as it would have been had there been no conspiracy against me, but still as large, I hope, as that of 1848. Most of the democratic free soilers have been too far alienated by that conspiracy to be immediately brought back. I shall do what I can.

Our State fair will be held at Cleveland on the 15th. 1 mean to be there, so will have an opportunity to see how the land lies; and will advise you as to prospects.

You ought to carry Massachusetts for the Independent Democracy. You can do it if you have faith enough and works answerable. I am glad to see that you are going to work in earnest. You must do it. When Douglas, Houston, Cass & other champions of the Compromise Democracy are traversing the Union for their candidates we cannot honorably fail in our devotion to a nobler cause and better men.

Faithfully yours,

[SALMON P. CHASE.]

SOURCE: Diary and correspondence of Salmon P. Chase, Annual Report of the American Historical Association for the Year 1902, Vol. 2, p. 247-8

Diary of 1st Lieutenant Lemuel A. Abbott: Tuesday, November 8, 1864

It has rained all day. Well, this is a great day in the States! Probably more depends on what it brings forth than any since Washington's time. As for myself, though, I have no fear but what all will come out right; am still in Vergennes, and have voted for Abraham Lincoln — my first vote. The city's vote is as follows:

Lincoln 310

McClellan 15

Good! This is as it should be.

SOURCE: Lemuel Abijah Abbott, Personal Recollections and Civil War Diary, 1864, p. 228

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: February 22, 1863

This is the anniversary of the birth of Washington, and of the inauguration of President Davis, upon the installation of the permanent government of the Confederate States. It is the ugliest day I ever saw. Snow fell all night, and was falling fast all day, with a northwest wind howling furiously. The snow is now nearly a foot deep, and the weather very cold.

My communication to the President, proposing an appeal to the people to furnish the army with meat and clothing (voluntary contributions), was transmitted to the Secretary of War yesterday, without remark, other than the simple reference. The plan will not be adopted, in all probability, for the Secretary will consult the Commissary and Quartermaster-General, and they will oppose any interference with the business of their departments. Red tape will win the day, even if our cause be lost. Our soldiers must be fed and clothed according to the “rules and regulations,” or suffer and perish for the want of food and clothing!

I have some curiosity to learn what the President has indorsed, or may indorse, on the paper sent him by Mr. Lyons, signed by half the members of Congress. Will he simply refer it to the Secretary? Then what will the Secretary do? My friends in Congress will likewise be curious to learn the result.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 262-3

Edward Everett to William Cullen Bryant, January 4, 1865

boston, January 4th

I have this day received your favor of the 2d, with an enclosed printed paper, to which my signature is requested, to be “immediately” returned. I should have preferred a little time for reflection on a proposal of so much gravity, and it would be presumptuous in me to decide off-hand that a law might not by possibility be framed in the present state of the country by which slavery should be constitutionally prohibited by Congress. I must own, however, that I do not find in the Constitution (from which alone Congress derives not only its powers but its existence) any authority for such a purpose. If this view is correct (and I am not aware that it has ever been contested by any party), the passage of a law like that proposed would be the inauguration of a new revolution; that is, the assumption of powers of the widest scope, confessedly not conferred by the frame of government under which we live. The legislation to which General Washington referred, in his letter of 1786, quoted in the printed paper, was, of course, State legislation. So was that of Pennsylvania, so justly commended in the paper. I would fear that an attempt like that prayed for would not only render more difficult the adoption of the constitutional amendment now pending, but throw obstacles in the way of the prohibition of slavery now in rapid progress under State authority, with reference to which there is no doubt.*

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* This letter was among the last Mr. Everett wrote; eleven days after the date of it he died ; and Mr. Bryant, though he had been no admirer of his earlier political course, paid handsome tributes to his memory in speeches before the New York Historical Society and the Union League Club. (a)

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(a) See “Orations and Addresses.” D. Appleton & Co.

SOURCE: Parke Godwin, A Biography of William Cullen Bryant, Volume 1, p. 224

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant John S. Morgan: Wednesday, February 22, 1865

The 28th Wis embark on the Belle ve Dere. Raining still. Our wagons loaded on Bell ve & detail sent arond with them, the Regt to go by car to lake Ponchertrain Genl A. J. Smiths Corps landing 4 miles below on the east side continues to rain & blow. Washingtons Birthday hundreds of flags & a national salute.

SOURCE: “Diary of John S. Morgan, Company G, 33rd Iowa Infantry,” Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 13, No. 8, April 1923, p. 575

Salmon P. Chase to Charles Sumner, February 19, 1848

Cincinnati, February 19, l848.

My Dear Sir: It always gives me a great deal of pleasure to hear from you; but I was more than gratified by your last letter. I thought I saw in it an augury of approaching union, among the true and earnest lovers of freedom of all parties — a union which every patriot and philanthropist cannot but earnestly desire. For myself, I care not under what banner the rally may be, so that the banner bear blazing on its folds the inscription of Freedom; nor shall I think it of much moment by whom it may be borne, so he be, at all events, a true hearted champion of the Right. How strange it is that such an union has not already been formed — was not long since formed! How it is possible that such facts as those stated by Mr. Palfrey in his Speech — and he gave only a few by way of sample — not at all treating the monstrous bulk — can have been known to Northern men and non-slaveholders, and yet stirred up no fever of indignation, I cannot understand. Unless indeed I adopt the humorous solution of your downeast poet, Hosea Biglow, who says in one of his inimitable lyrics:—

We begin to think its nater,

To take sarse and not be riled,

Who'd expect to see a ’tater,

All on eend at bein’ biled?

Your overtrue description of the fate of honest antislavery men in the Whig Party, devoted to private assault and assassination — suspected, slandered, and traduced applies just as strongly to the antislavery democrats. I believe it was Euripides who said — as Milton translates him:—

There can be slain

No sacrifice, to the Gods more acceptable

Than an unjust and wicked king.

The converse of this is certainly true. There can be no more acceptable sacrifice to unjust power — the unscrupulous slave power — than the immolation of an earnest & defiant¹ friend of Freedom and the Right. And I have heard democrats complain [of efforts¹] made to ruin them in public esteem, and cut them off from all hopes of political advancement, with an emphasis not less strong than your own. But what remedy for such grievances, except by independent action? How can we expect that the people will sustain us, or that demagogues and serviles will fail to combine against us, defaming our characters, impairing our influence, depriving us opposition, and, what is greatly worse, thwarting our best purposes, unless we give them to understand that we can get along without them, if they choose to get along without us — that our principles are as dear to us as the loaves and fishes of office are dear to them? Once let it be understood by politicians, that no candidate for office can receive the suffrages of antislavery men, who does not, in some reasonable sense, represent antislavery principles, and parties will not dare to fly in the face of antislavery sentiment as they do at present. What a figure the Radical Democracy of New York will cut, if after resolving and resolving upon the absolute necessity of adherence to the Proviso under all circumstances, they should, after all, go into the Baltimore Convention next May and acquiesce in the nomination of Cass or Buchanan or any such man? What a figure will Antislavery Whigs cut in acquiescing in the nomination of Taylor, or Clay, or any other slaveholder, who gives no clear and unequivocal evidence, that he cherishes any antislavery sentiments?

I have thought much of the best means of concentrating antislavery effort. I confess I have not yet seen any clear line of action. The most eligible I have thought is to assemble in National Convention, in June next, say at Pittsburgh, for the purpose of taking into consideration the state of the country, and adopting such practical measures as may be then judged most expedient. My own judgment inclines to the opinion — strongly inclines to it — that should the Whigs nominate a candidate for the Presidency who will take decided ground against the extension of slavery into territories hereafter acquired, such a Convention should give such a candidate its support. The same measure should be applied to the Democratic nomination. Should both parties nominate men, not to be depended on for such opposition to slavery extension, then such a Convention should nominate a candidate of its own.

I have no expectation whatever that General Taylor will take any decided ground upon any question. He will certainly take no ground — unless he changes all his habits of thought, all his sentiments, and all his prejudices—against the extension of slavery. General Taylor is very strong in the South. I was at St. Louis and at Louisville a few weeks since, and had an opportunity of learning something of the feeling of the western southwestern slave States in relation to him. He will sweep them if a candidate like a tornado. But I am not able to see any convincing indications of his strength in the North and Northwest. I see rather signs which satisfy me that if he receives the nomination of the Whigs, it must be because the Whigs of the North and Northwest sacrifice their interests, their honors and their duties, to the ambition of party success. As to Mr. Clay, he might properly receive the support of antislavery men if he would come out unequivocally against the extension of slavery, and in favor of a Convention and some reasonable plan of emancipation in Kentucky. I have no faith, however, that he will do this, though I do not deem it quite impossible.

You say “if Judge M'Lean could be induced to take any practical ground against the extension of slavery he would be a popular candidate”. You may recollect something of a letter from Columbus last fall which appeared in the Era. That letter contained a statement of Judge M'Lean's position as understood by the writer, and it was this, that the Wilmot Proviso, as to all territories in which slavery does not exist at the time of acquisition, is in the Constitution already. A resolution of Congress may declare the principle and legislation by Congress may enforce its application; but neither resolution nor legislation is needed to establish the principle. It is in the Constitution. The paragraph of this letter containing this statement was shown to Judge M'Lean and approved by him. I had a conversation with Corwin² and I regretted to find that he did not sympathize with or concur in these views. So far as I could discover he had no definite, considered principle or opinions on the subject. He thought it best to avoid the question, by opposing territorial acquisition, but if it must come, then secure freedom by legislation.

Under all circumstances I cannot but think Judge M'Lean to be all together the most reliable man, on the slavery question, now prominent in either party. It is true he does not fully agree with those who are generally known as antislavery men. But on the question of extension of slavery he is with us, not only on the question of its impolicy and its criminality, but also because he believed such extension would be a clear infraction of the Constitution. Add to this the constant and familiar association with antislavery folks in his family and among his friends, and his known aversion to slavery itself — an aversion so strong that when he quitted Washington, although in debt, and comparatively poor, he emancipated his slaves, when sale would have produced the means of discharging all his obligations. I regret very much the decision of Judge M'Lean in the Vanzandt case and believe he fell into great error; still on the pressing issue — the extension of slavery, he is wholly with us, and in general sentiment on slavery questions, nearer to us than any other statesman of either of the two old parties. He is not against the Proviso — on the contrary he is in favor of it. He thinks it however is inexpedient to weaken the strength of the Constitutional position against slavery, by introducing a specific measure of legislation against it, under present circumstances, when its defeat in the legislature or its veto by the Executive is certain, and such defeat, in the general opinion, would take away every obstacle from the introduction of slavery into new territories.

I understand from Mr. Vaughan, that the Boston Whig has given a different statement of Judge M'Lean's position, from the one I have just set before you. You may depend, however, on the fact that mine is correct; and I leave you to judge whether I am wrong in thinking that the nomination of M'Lean by the Whig Convention would be the most substantial triumph of antislavery which has been achieved this century.

I thank you for your offer to circulate a few copies of the Vanzandt argument in Westminster Hall. I send you a dozen for that purpose. I read your address on Fame and Glory with very great pleasure.

Forgive this long letter, and believe me,

Faithfully your friend,

[SALMON P. CHASE.]

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¹ Conjectural. Torn in MS.

² First part of name torn out of MS. From the final syllable, win, Corwin is conjectured.

SOURCE: Annual Report of the American Historical Association for the Year 1902, Vol. 2, p. 128

Major Wilder Dwight, April 24, 1862

Camp Between New Market And Sparta,

Thursday, April 24, 1862.

When I awoke on Easter morning in my dripping bivouac, and looked gloomily at my boots, which, with studied carelessness, I had so placed as to receive the stream from the flimsy shelter over me, and which were full of water, when, more than all, I poured the water out and put the boots on, I might have known, by intuitive conjecture, that our forces would the next day occupy Sparta. The storm did not abate until Tuesday, and it left us in hopeless mud and rain. Our advance is now in Harrisonburg, and Jackson's force has crossed the gap, and is on its way to Gordonsville. “The Valley” is cleared; and General Banks has been enjoying himself with a “general order” of congratulation, back-patting, and praise, worthy of little Jack Horner, and his thumb and his plum. Still, one fact is stubborn. Our column has penetrated Virginia one hundred miles, and is very near to important Rebel lines of communication, and has achieved important results with reasonable promptness and without disaster.

We hear to-day that the freshets of the Potomac and Shenandoah have combined to carry away the railroad bridge over the Potomac at Harper's Ferry. This will interfere with our supplies, and, I think, hasten our course over the Blue Ridge towards Gordonsville.

I have enjoyed for the past two days the slight alleviation of weather. Tuesday afternoon the Colonel and I rode through the gap opposite New Market, over the Massannattan Mountain, into the other valley which is bounded by the Blue Ridge. The road is a graded, gradual ascent, winding in and out. At its summit is one of the signal-stations, whence the view into both valleys is very fine, and, under the changing, clouded, and showery light, the scene had a great charm, heightened by the camps which were scattered over the green fields of the valley. We descended into the other valley to visit the Third Wisconsin, a regiment of Colonel Gordon's brigade, which is stationed there to protect two bridges over the South Fork of the Shenandoah and another stream.

Yesterday was a bright, breezy, sunshiny day, tempting one strongly to out-door life, — otherwise I should have written you a word on my birthday. Colonel Gordon and I drove down to Rood's Hill to examine the position which Jackson occupied there. We found it of great natural strength, with a river on either flank, and a broad, flat bottom, over which our approach would have been made.

We saw one scene in the course of our ride which illustrates the vile tyranny, oppression, and outrage which has been practised by the Rebels here. A neatly-dressed woman, with five little children, — one in her arms, — was crossing the field. We stopped and spoke to her. “Indeed it is,” said she, “hard times for poor folks. Jackson took my husband off with him. They gave him his choice to go or death. I expect him back, though, now that you've got here. He promised to run away the first chance.” Comment on such a “volunteer’ system is unnecessary. I told you that we were living near the house of Mr. Williamson, and took our meals there. I am now writing in the parlor, which is brigade head-quarters. The husband and father of the family is off with the army, but his uncle, the owner of the farm, an old man of eighty years, is here. He is an intelligent man. He heard John Randolph's maiden speech in Congress at Philadelphia. He sat in Richmond in the Convention to amend Virginia's constitution with Madison and Monroe. His farm here contains sixteen hundred acres, and as he sees his rail-fences disappearing before our camps he recalls how it looked in New Jersey years after Washington's army had wintered there; not a fence for miles. This helps his philosophy a little, but he is a bitter Secessionist, though his hope flickers under the blast of Northern invasion. One of the most amusing things connected with our movement into this country is the constant and odd exhibition of its effect on the negro. Day before yesterday our pickets brought in six contrabands. They had fled from above Harrisonburg, to avoid being drawn off with Jackson's army. One of them was almost white; another was of quite mature years, and very much disposed to philosophize and consider and pause over this emancipation question, and act “for the best.” I must try to give you a snatch from the dialogue between Colonel Gordon and the negroes; but I must leave out the brogue and laugh and aspect of the men which made up the incomparable effect. After asking them where they came from, &c., the Colonel, “Well, why didn't you go off with your master?” Ans. I didn't want to go South. Q. The South are your friends, ain't they? A. No, dey isn't no friends to colored people. Q. Well, what made you think we should be? Didn't your master tell you we wanted to steal you and sell you to Cuba? A. Yes, but we don't believe no such nonsense as dat. De Norf is our friends. I've heard all about de Norf, and I never see black men chained together and driven off to de Norf, but I have seen ’em, hundreds of ’em driven off Souf. I'd ruffer trust to de Norf, and I'd like to try it. Q. Well, but you can't work and take care of yourself, can you? Your master always took care of you, didn't he? A. Bress you, if de nigger don't work, who does? De white folks don't do no work. I've hired myself out for five years, made de bargain myself, and my master got de money. Yah! yah! yah! And they all laughed. Q. Well, you want to go Norf, do you? A. Yes. Then the philosopher, who was named George, reasoned a little more about it. At last the Colonel said: “Well, you are free; you can go where you please. You ain't slaves any longer, unless you choose to go back. Now, what are you going to do? Ain't you going to do something? ain't you going to turn somersets?” The negroes laughed and were exuberant. “Turn over, George, turn over,” said the darkies; and down the old fellow dumped, and went heels over head on the floor amid a general conviviality.

That's what I call the practical effect of invasion. Where the army goes, slavery topples and falls. For my part, I enjoy it hugely.

As I write this letter, two men are brought in. They are just out of Jackson's army. They live over on the Blue Ridge. A fortnight ago they were hunted into the woods by cavalry, shot at, and caught and put into the army. They say that the woods are full of men hiding in the same way, and that the cavalry are hunting them out. “The South is fighting for independence,” says Lord John Russell; “the North, for empire.” “No man's liberty of speech or person is interrupted,” says Jefferson Davis.

I believe I am fighting in God's cause against the most diabolical conspirators, rebels, and tyrants in the world.

The bright sun of yesterday dried the ground so much that we had battalion drill, and I had the pleasure of drilling the battalion. This morning, however, this treacherous climate again betrayed us, and it is snowing! for all day, I fear.

I rejoice to receive your letter of April 14, just brought in. It brings me news of Howard and William and home, in which I delight. I hope William's forebodings are not well founded, but McClellan must gather fruit soon or go to the wall. Still, silence to all clamor against him, and let us await the issue. I agree with Howard, that this military life gets wearisome.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 237-40

Gustavus V. Fox to John M. Forbes, November 22, 1862

Navy Department, November 22, 1862.

Dear Sir, — . . . As to our defenses, I believe this is about the truth. The Alabama can be kept out by our present forts. She is doing a better business, with less risk, than attacking Boston. No forts can keep out ironclads. We must have obstructions easily raised. There are no big guns to spare. Parties cannot make guns who are not experienced. We have started half a dozen new foundries in New England the last year, and got only one good gun. Any man for a year past, and now, who wishes a contract for big guns can have it. No one has ever been refused. As to ironclads it is the same. Every one is invited and has been, and no one capable of doing the work has been refused. So with marine engines. We will build a vessel for every party who will take an engine. Washington is reported to have said, “In peace, prepare for war.” We didn't, and here we are. It is of no use to sacrifice anybody; we are caught unprepared, and must pay for it. . . . We are building some wooden-bottom turret ships in the navy yards to carry four 15-inch guns. We fired the 15-inch gun at nine inches of iron. It did not penetrate, but it shook the whole affair nearly to pieces. We are in the hands of the contractors, who are doing all they can, but it is far short of public expectation. In the mean time, if harbor obstructions are not provided, our cities are not safe against ironclads.

SOURCE: Sarah Forbes Hughes, Letters and Recollections of John Murray Forbes, Volume 1, p. 340-1

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: November 1, 1862

Gen. Winder's late policemen have fled the city. Their monstrous crimes are the theme of universal execration. But I reported them many months ago, and Gen. Winder was cognizant of their forgeries, correspondence with the enemy, etc. The Secretary of War, and the President himself, were informed of them, but it was thought to be a “small matter.”

Gen. Lee made his appearance at the department to-day, and was hardly recognizable, for his beard, now quite white, has been suffered to grow all over his face. But he is quite robust from his exercises in the field. His appearance here, coupled with the belief that we are to have the armistice, or recognition and intervention, is interpreted by many as an end of the war. But I apprehend it is a symptom of the falling back of our army.

I have been startled to-day by certain papers that came under my observation. The first was written by J. Foulkes, to L. B. Northrop, Commissary-General, proposing to aid the government in procuring meat and bread for the army from ports in the enemy's possession. They were to be paid for in cotton. The next was a letter from the Commissary-General to G. W. Randolph, Secretary of War, urging the acceptance of the proposition, and saying without it, it would be impossible to subsist the army. He says the cotton proposed to be used, in the Southwest will either be burned or fall into the hands of the enemy; and that more than two-thirds is never destroyed when the enemy approaches. But to effect his object, it will be necessary for the Secretary to sanction it, and to give orders for the cotton to pass the lines of the army. The next was from the Secretary to the President, dated October thirtieth, which not only sanctioned Colonel Northrop's scheme, but went further, and embraced shoes and blankets for the Quartermaster-General. This letter inclosed both Foulkes's and Northrop's. They were all sent back to-day by the President, with his remarks. He hesitates, and does not concur. But says the Secretary will readily see the propriety of postponing such a resort until January — and he hopes it may not be necessary then to depart from the settled policy of the government — to forbear trading cotton to the Yankees, etc. etc.

Mr. Benjamin, Secretary of State, has given Mr. Dunnock permission to sell cotton to the Yankees and the rest of the world on the Atlantic and Gulf coast. Can it be that the President knows nothing of this? It is obvious that the cotton sold by Mr. Dunnock (who was always licensed by Mr. Benjamin to trade with people in the enemy's country beyond the Potomac) will be very comfortable to the enemy. And it may aid Mr. Dunnock and others in accumulating a fortune. The Constitution defines treason to be giving aid and comfort to the enemy. I never supposed Mr. Randolph would suggest, nay urge, opening an illicit trade with “Butler, the Beast.” This is the first really dark period of our struggle for independence.

We have acres enough, and laborers enough, to subsist 30,000,000 of people; and yet we have the spectacle of high functionaries, under Mr. Davis, urging the necessity of bartering cotton to the enemy for stores essential to the maintenance of the army! I cannot believe it is a necessity, but a destitution of that virtue necessary to achieve independence. If they had any knowledge of these things in Europe, they would cease their commendations of President Davis.

Mr. Randolph says, in his letter to the President, that trading with ports in possession of the enemy is forbidden to citizens, and not to the government! The archives of the department show that this is not the first instance of the kind entertained by the Secretary. He has granted a license to citizens in Mobile to trade cotton in New Orleans for certain supplies in exchange, in exact compliance with Gen. Butler's proclamation. Did Pitt ever practice such things during his contest with Napoleon? Did the Continental Government ever resort to such equivocal expedients? A member of Washington's cabinet (and he, too, was a Randolph) once violated the “settled policy of the government,” but he was instantly deprived of the seals of office. He acted under the advice of Jefferson, who sought to destroy Washington; and the present Secretary Randolph is a grandson of Jefferson. Washington, the inflexible patriot, frowned indignantly upon every departure from the path of rectitude.

I can do nothing more than record these things, and Watch!

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 179-81

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: October 31, 1862

If it be not a Yankee electioneering trick to operate at the election in New York, on the fourth of November, the Northern correspondence with Europe looks very much like speedy intervention in our behalf.

Winder has really dismissed all his detectives excepting Cashmeyer, about the worst of them.

If we gain our independence by the valor of our people, or assisted by European intervention, I wonder whether President Davis will be regarded by the world as a second Washington? What will his own country say of him? I know not, of course; but I know what quite a number here say of him now. They say he is a small specimen of a statesman, and no military chieftain at all. And worse still, that he is a capricious tyrant, for lifting up Yankees and keeping down great Southern men. Wise, Floyd, etc. are kept in obscurity; while Pemberton, who commanded the Massachusetts troops, under Lincoln, in April, 1861, is made a lieutenant-general; G. W. Smith and Lovell, who were officeholders in New York, when the battle of Manassas was fought, are made major-generals, and the former put in command over Wise in Virginia, and all the generals in North Carolina. Ripley, another Northern general, was sent to South Carolina, and Winder, from Maryland, has been allowed to play the despot in Richmond and Petersburg. Washington was maligned.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 178

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: October 22, 1862

Back at the department at work, but not much to do yet. The mails are not heavy.

We have Bragg's report of the battle of Perryville. He beat the enemy from his positions, driving him back two miles, when night set in. But finding overwhelming masses accumulating around him, he withdrew in good order to Bryattsville. Thus Kentucky is given up for the present!

McClellan has retired back into Maryland, hoping, I suppose, Lee will follow and fall into his ambuscade.

The President will call out, under the Conscription Act, all between the ages of eighteen and forty. This will furnish, according to the Secretary's estimate, 500,000, after deducting the exempts. A great mistake.

A letter from Gen. Lee indicates that he is in favor of making Treasury notes a legal tender. It was so with Washington concerning Continental money — but Congress pays no attention to the subject. Why does not the President recommend it? It would then pass — for, at present, he is master.

The paper from the Provost Marshal, referred by the latter to the President, came back to-day. The Secretary, in referring it, seems to incline to the opinion that the writ of habeas corpus not being suspended, there was no remedy for the many evils the Provost Marshal portrayed. The President, however, did not wholly coincide in that opinion. He says: “The introduction and sale of liquors must be prevented. Call upon the city authorities to withhold licenses, and to abate the evil in the courts, or else an order will be issued, such as the necessity requires.”

Judge Campbell, late of the United States Supreme Court, has been appointed Assistant Secretary of War.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 174-5

Diary of William Howard Russell: May 16, 1861

The reveille of the Zouaves, note for note the same as that which, in the Crimea, so often woke up poor fellows who slept the long sleep ere nightfall, roused us this morning early, and then the clang of trumpets and the roll of drums beating French calls summoned the volunteers to early parade. As there was a heavy dew, and many winged things about last night, I turned in to my berth below, where four human beings were supposed to lie in layers, like mummies beneath a pyramid, and there, after contention with cockroaches, sank to rest. No wonder I was rather puzzled to know where I was now; for in addition to the music and the familiar sounds outside, I was somewhat perturbed in my mental calculations by bringing my head sharply in contact with a beam of the deck which had the best of it; but, at last, facts accomplished themselves and got into place, much aided by the appearance of the negro cook with a cup of coffee in his hand, who asked, “Mosieu! Capitaine vant to ax vedder you take some bitter, sar! Lisbon bitter, sar.” I saw the captain on deck busily engaged in the manufacture of a liquid which I was adjured by all the party on deck to take, if I wished to make a Redan or a Malakoff of my stomach, and accordingly I swallowed a petit verve of a very strong, and intensely bitter preparation of brandy and tonic roots, sweetened with sugar, for which Mobile is famous.

The noise of our arrival had gone abroad; haply the report of the good things with which the men of Mobile had laden the craft, for a few officers came aboard even at that early hour, and we asked two who were known to our friends to stay for breakfast. That meal, to which the negro cook applied his whole mind and all the galley, consisted of an ugly looking but well-flavored fish from the waters outside us, fried ham and onions, biscuit, coffee, iced water and Bordeaux, served with charming simplicity, and no way calculated to move the ire of Horace by a display of Persic apparatus.

A more greasy, oniony meal was never better enjoyed. One of our guests was a jolly Yorkshire farmer-looking man, up to about 16 stone weight, with any hounds, dressed in a tunic of green baize or frieze, with scarlet worsted braid down the front, gold lace on the cuffs and collar, and a felt wide-awake, with a bunch of feathers in it. He wiped the sweat off his brow, and swore that he would never give in, and that the whole of the company of riflemen whom he commanded, if not as heavy, were quite as patriotic. He was evidently a kindly affectionate man, without a trace of malice in his composition, but his sentiments were quite ferocious when he came to speak of the Yankees. He was a large slave-owner, and therefore a man of fortune, and he spoke with all the fervor of a capitalist menaced by a set of Red Republicans.

His companion, who wore a plain blue uniform, spoke sensibly about a matter with which sense has rarely any thing to do — namely uniform. Many of the United States volunteers adopt the same gray colors so much in vogue among the Confederates. The officers of both armies wear similar distinguishing marks of rank, and he was quite right in supposing that in night marches, or in serious actions on a large scale, much confusion and loss would be caused by men of the same army firing on each other, or mistaking enemies for friends.

Whilst we were talking, large shoals of mullet and other fish were flying before the porpoises, red fish, and other enemies, in the tide-way astern of the schooner. Once, as a large white fish came leaping up to the surface, a gleam of something still whiter shot through the waves, and a boiling whirl, tinged with crimson, which gradually melted off in the tide, marked where the fish had been.

“There's a ground sheark as has got his breakfast,” quoth the Skipper. “There's quite a many of them about here.” Now and then a turtle showed his head, exciting desiderium tam cari captis, above the envied flood which he honored with his presence.

Far away toward Pensacola, floated three British ensigns, from as many merchantmen, which as yet had fifteen days to clear out from the blockaded port. Fort Pickens had hoisted the stars and stripes to the wind, and Fort M'Rae, as if to irritate its neighbor, displayed a flag almost identical, but for the “lone star,” which the glass detected instead of the ordinary galaxy — the star of Florida.

Lieutenant Ellis, General Bragg's aide-de-camp, came on board at an early hour in order to take me round the works, and I was soon on the back of the General's charger, safely ensconced between the raised pummel and cantle of a great brass-bound saddle, with emblazoned saddle-cloth and mighty stirrups of brass, fit for the fattest marshal that ever led an army of France to victory; but General Bragg is longer in the leg than the Duke of Malakoff or Marshal Canrobert, and all my efforts to touch with my toe the wonderful supports which, in consonance with the American idea, dangled far beneath, were ineffectual.

As our road lay by head-quarters, the aide-de-camp took me into the court and called out “Orderly;” and at the summons a smart soldier-like young fellow came to the front, took me three holes up, and as I was riding away touched his cap and said, “I beg your pardon, sir, but I often saw you in the Crimea.” He had been in the 11th Hussars, and on the day of Balaklava he was following close to Lord Cardigan and Captain Nolan, when his horse was killed by a round shot. As he was endeavoring to escape on foot the Cossacks took him prisoner, and he remained for eleven months in captivity in Russia, till he was exchanged at Odessa, toward the close of the war; then, being one of two sergeants who were permitted to get their discharge, he left the service. “But here you are again,” said I, “soldiering once more, and merely acting as an orderly!” “Well, that's true enough, but I came over here, thinking to better myself as some of our fellows did, and then the war broke out, and I entered one of what they called their cavalry regiments — Lord bless you, sir, it would just break your heart to see them — and here I am now, and the general has made me an orderly. He is a kind man, sir, and the pay is good, but they are not like the old lot; I do not know what my lord would think of them.” The man's name was Montague, and he told me his father lived “at a place called Windsor,” twenty-one miles from London. Lieutenant Ellis said he was a very clean, smart, well-conducted soldier.

From head-quarters we started on our little tour of inspection of the batteries. Certainly, any thing more calculated to shake confidence in American journalism could not be seen; for I had been led to believe that the works were of the most formidable description, mounting hundreds of guns. Where hundreds was written, tens would have been nearer the truth.

I visited ten out of the thirteen batteries which General Bragg has erected against Fort Pickens. I saw but five heavy siege guns in the whole of the works among the fifty or fifty-five pieces with which they were armed. There may be about eighty altogether on the lines, which describe an arc of 135 degrees for about three miles round Pickens, at an average distance of a mile and one third. I was rather interested with Fort Barrancas, built by the Spaniards long ago — an old work on the old plan, weakly armed, but possessing a tolerable command from the face of fire.

In all the batteries there were covered galleries in the rear, connected with the magazines, and called “rat-holes,” intended by the constructors as a refuge for the men whenever a shell from Pickens dropped in. The rush to the rat-hole does not impress one as being very conducive to a sustained and heavy fire, or at all likely to improve the morale of the gunners. The working parties, as they were called — volunteers from Mississippi and Alabama, great long-bearded fellows in flannel shirts and slouched hats, uniformless in all save brightly burnished arms and resolute purpose — were lying about among the works, or contributing languidly to their completion.

Considerable improvements were in the course of execution; but the officers were not always agreed as to the work to be done. Captain A., at the wheelbarrows: “Now then, you men, wheel up these sand-bags, and range them just at this corner.” Major B.: “My good Captain A., what do you want the bags there for? Did I not tell you, these merlons were not to be finished till we had completed the parapet on the front?” Captain A.: “Well, Major, so you did, and your order made me think you knew darned little about your business; and so I am going to do a little engineering of my own.”

Altogether, I was quite satisfied General Bragg was perfectly correct in refusing to open big fire on Fort Pickens and on the fleet, which ought certainly to have knocked his works about his ears, in spite of his advantages of position, and of some well-placed mortar batteries among the brushwood, at distances from Pickens of 2500 and 2800 yards. The magazines of the batteries I visited did not contain ammunition for more than one day's ordinary firing. The shot were badly cast, with projecting flanges from the mould, which would be very injurious to soft metal guns in firing. As to men, as in guns, the Southern papers had lied consumedly. I could not say how many were in Pensacola itself, for I did not visit the camp: at the outside guess of the numbers there was 2000. I saw, however, all the camps here, and I doubt exceedingly if General Bragg — who at this time is represented to have any number from 30,000 to 50,000 men under his command — has 8000 troops to support his batteries, or 10,000, including Pensacola, all told.

If hospitality consists in the most liberal participation of all the owner has with his visitors, here, indeed, Philemon has his type in every tent. As we rode along through every battery, by every officer's quarters some great Mississippian or Alabamian came forward with “Captain Ellis, I am glad to see you.” “Colonel,” to me, “won't you get down and have a drink?” Mr. Ellis duly introduces me. The Colonel with effusion grasps my hand and says, as if he had just gained the particular object of his existence, “Sir, I am very glad indeed to know you. I hope you have been pretty well since you have been in our country, sir. Here, Pompey, take the colonel's horse. “Step in, sir, and have a drink.” Then comes out the great big whiskey bottle, and an immense amount of adhesion to the first law of nature is required to get you off with less than half-a-pint of “Bourbon;” but the most trying thing to a stranger is the fact that when he is going away, the officer, who has been so delighted to see him, does not seem to care a farthing for his guest or his health.

The truth is, these introductions are ceremonial observances, and compliances with the universal curiosity of Americans to know people they meet. The Englishman bows frigidly to his acquaintance on the first introduction, and if he likes him shakes hands with him on leaving — a much more sensible and justifiable proceeding. The American's warmth at the first interview must be artificial, and the indifference at parting is ill-bred and in bad taste. I had already observed this on many occasions, especially at Montgomery, where I noticed it to Colonel Wigfall, but the custom is not incompatible with the most profuse hospitality, nor with the desire to render service.

On my return to head-quarters I found General Bragg in his room, engaged in writing an official letter in reply to my request to be permitted to visit Fort Pickens, in which he gave me full permission to do as I pleased. Not only this, but he had prepared a number of letters of introduction to the military authorities, and to his personal friends at New Orleans, requesting them to give me every facility and friendly assistance in their power. He asked me my opinion about the batteries and their armament, which I freely gave him quantum valeat. “Well,” he said, “I think your conclusions are pretty just; but, nevertheless, some fine day I shall be forced to try the mettle of our friends on the opposite side.” All I could say was, “May God defend the right.” “A good saying, to which I say, Amen. And drink with you to it.”

There was a room outside, full of generals and colonels, to whom I was duly introduced, but the time for departure had come, and I bade good-by to the general and rode down in the wrharf. I had always heard, during my brief sojourn in the North, that the Southern people were exceedingly illiterate and ignorant. It may be so, but I am bound to say that I observed a large proportion of the soldiers, on their way to the navy yard, engaged in reading newspapers, though they did not neglect the various drinking bars and exchanges, which were only too numerous in the vicinity of the camps.

The schooner was all ready for sea, but the Mobile gentleman had gone off to Pensacola, and as I did not desire to invite them to visit Fort Pickens — where, indeed, they would have most likely met with a refusal — I resolved to sail without them and to return to the navy yard in the evening, in order to take them back on our homeward voyage. “Now then, captain, cast loose; we are going to Fort Pickens.” The worthy seaman had by this time become utterly at sea, and did not appear to know whether he belonged to the Confederate States, Abraham Lincoln, or the British navy. But this order roused him a little, and looking at me with all his eyes, he exclaimed, “Why, you don't mean to say you are going to make me bring the Diana alongside that darned Yankee Fort!” Our table-cloth, somewhat maculated with gravy, was hoisted once more to the peak, and, after some formalities between the guardians of the jetty and ourselves, the schooner canted round in the tideway, and with a fine light breeze ran down toward the stars and stripes.

What magical power there is in the colors of a piece of bunting! My companions, I dare say, felt as proud of their flag as if their ancestors had fought under it at Acre or Jerusalem. And yet how fictitious its influence! Death, and dishonor worse than death, to desert it one day! Patriotism and glory to leave it in the dust, and fight under its rival, the next! How indignant would George Washington have been, if the Frenchman at Fort du Quesne had asked him to abandon the old rag which Braddock held aloft in the wilderness, and to serve under the very fieur-de-lys which the same great George hailed with so much joy but a few years afterwards, when it was advanced to the front at Yorktown, to win one of its few victories over the Lions and the Harp. And in this Confederate flag there is a meaning which cannot die — it marks the birthplace of a new nationality, and its place must know it forever. Even the flag of a rebellion leaves indelible colors in the political atmosphere. The hopes that sustained it may vanish in the gloom of night, but the national faith still believes that its sun will rise on some glorious morrow. Hard must it be for this race, so arrogant, so great, to see stripe and star torn from the fair standard with which they would fain have shadowed all the kingdoms of the world; but their great continent is large enough for many nations.

“And now,” said the skipper, “I think we'd best lie to — them cussed Yankees on the beach is shouting to us.” And so they were. A sentry on the end of a wooden jetty sung out, “Hallo you there! Stand off or I'll fire,” and “drew a bead-line on us.” At the same time the skipper hailed, “Please to send a boat off to go ashore.” “No, sir! Come in your own boat!” cried the officer of the guard. Our own boat! A very skiff of Charon! Leaky, rotten, lop-sided. We were a hundred yards from the beach, and it was to be hoped that with all its burden, it could not go down in such a short row. As I stepped in, however, followed by my two companions, the water flew in as if forced by a pump, and when the sailors came after us the skipper said, through a mouthful of juice, “Deevid! pull your hardest, for there an't a more terrible place for shearks along the whole coast.” Deevid and his friend pulled like men, and our hopes rose with the water in the boat and the decreasing distance to shore. They worked like Doggett's badgers, and in five minutes we were out of “sheark” depth and alongside the jetty, where Major Vogdes, Mr. Brown, of the Oriental, and an officer, introduced as Captain Barry of the United States artillery, were waiting to receive us. Major Vogdes said that Colonel Brown would most gladly permit me to go over the fort, but that he could not receive any of the other gentlemen of the party; they were permitted to wander about at their discretion.. Some friends whom they picked up amongst the officers took them on a ride along the island, which is merely a sand-bank covered with coarse vegetation, a few trees, and pools of brackish water.

If I were selecting a summer habitation I should certainly not choose Fort Pickens. It is, like all other American works I have seen, strong on the sea faces and weak toward the land. The outer gate was closed, but at a talismanic knock from Captain Barry, the wicket was thrown open by the guard, and we passed through a vaulted gallery into the parade-ground, which was full of men engaged in strengthening the place, and digging deep pits in the centre as shell traps. The men were United States regulars, not comparable in physique to the Southern volunteers, but infinitely superior in cleanliness and soldierly smartness. The officer on duty led me to one of the angles of the fort and turned in to a covered way, which had been ingeniously contrived by tilting up gun platforms and beams of wood at an angle against the wall, and piling earth and sand banks against them for several feet in thickness. The casemates, which otherwise would have been exposed to a plunging fire in the rear, were thus effectually protected.

Emerging from this dark passage I entered one of the bomb-proofs, fitted up as a bed-room, and thence proceeded to the casemate, in which Colonel Harvey Browne has his head-quarters. After some conversation, he took me out upon the parapet and went all over the defences.

Fort Pickens is an oblique, and somewhat narrow parallelogram, with one obtuse angle facing the sea and the other toward the land. The bastion at the acute angle toward Barrancas is the weakest part of the work, and men were engaged in throwing up an extempore glacis to cover the wall and the casemates from fire. The guns were of what is considered small calibre in these days, 32 and 42 pounders, with four or five heavy columbiads. An immense amount of work has been done within the last three weeks, but as yet the preparations are by no means complete. From the walls, which are made of a hard baked brick, nine feet in thickness, there is a good view of the enemy's position. There is a broad ditch round the work, now dry, and probably not intended for water. The cuvette has lately been cleared out, and in proof of the agreeable nature of the locality, the officers told me that sixty very fine rattle-snakes were killed by the workmen during the operation.

As I was looking at the works from the wall, Captain Yogdes made a sly remark now and then, blinking his eyes and looking closely at my face to see if he could extract any information. “There are the quarters of your friend General Bragg; he pretends, we hear, that it is an hospital, but we will soon have him out when we open fire.” “Oh, indeed.” “That's their best battery beside the light-house; we can't well make out whether there are ten, eleven, or twelve guns in it.” Then Captain Vogdes became quite meditative, and thought aloud, “Well, I'm sure, Colonel, they've got a strong entrenched camp in that wood behind their morter batteries. I'm quite sure of it — we must look to that with our long range guns.” What the engineer saw, must have been certain absurd little furrows in the sand, which the Confederates have thrown up about three feet in front of their tents, but whether to carry off or to hold rain water, or as cover for rattle-snakes, the best judge cannot determine.

The Confederates have been greatly delighted with the idea that Pickens will be almost untenable during the summer for the United States troops, on account of the heat and mosquitos, not to speak of yellow fever; but in fact they are far better off than the troops on shore — the casemates are exceedingly well ventilated, light and airy. Mosquitos, yellow fever, and dysentery, will make no distinction between Trojan and Tyrian. On the whole, I should prefer being inside, to being outside Pickens, in case of a bombardment; and there can be no doubt the entire destruction of the navy yard and station by the Federals can be accomplished whenever they please. Colonel Browne pointed out the tall chimney at Warrenton smoking away, and said, “There, sir, is the whole reason of Bragg's forbearance, as it is called. Do you see ? — they are casting shot and shell there as fast as they can. They know well if they opened a gun on us I could lay that yard and all their works there in ruin;” and Colonel Harvey Browne seems quite the man for the work — a resolute, energetic veteran, animated by the utmost dislike to secession and its leaders, and full of what are called “Union Principles,” which are rapidly becoming the mere expression of a desire to destroy life, liberty, property, any thing in fact which opposes itself to the consolidation of the Federal government.

Probably no person has ever been permitted to visit two hostile camps within sight of each other save myself. I was neither spy, herald, nor ambassador; and both sides trusted to me fully on the understanding that I would not make use of any information here, but that it might be communicated to the world at the other side of the Atlantic.

Apropos of this, Colonel Browne told me an amusing story, which shows that cuteness is not altogether confined to the Yankees. Some days ago a gentleman was found wandering about the island, who stated he was a correspondent of a New York paper. Colonel Browne was not satisfied with the account he gave of himself, and sent him on board one of the ships of the fleet, to be confined as a prisoner. Soon afterwards a flag of truce came over from the Confederates, carrying a letter from General Bragg, requesting Colonel Browne to give up the prisoner, as he had escaped to the island after committing a felony, and enclosing a warrant signed by a justice of the peace for his arrest. Colonel Browne laughed at the ruse, and keeps his prisoner.

As it was approaching evening and I had seen every thing in the fort, the hospital, casemates, magazines, bakehouses, tasted the rations, and drank the whiskey, I set out for the schooner, accompanied by Colonel Browne and Captain Barry and other officers, and picking up my friends at the bakehouse outside.

Having bidden our acquaintances good-by, we got on board the Diana, which steered toward the Warrington navy yard, to take the rest of the party on board. The sentries along the beach and on the batteries grounded arms, and stared with surprise as the Diana, with her tablecloth flying, crossed over from Fort Pickens, and ran slowly along the Confederate works. Whilst we were spying for the Mobile gentlemen, the mate took it into his head to take up the Confederate bunting, and wave it over the quarter. “Hollo, what's that you're doing?” “It's only a signal to the gentlemen on shore.” “Wave some other flag, if you please, when we are in these waters, with a flag of truce flying.”

After standing off and on for some time, the Mobilians at last boarded us in a boat. They were full of excitement, quite eager to stay and see the bombardment which must come off in twenty-four hours. Before we left Mobile harbor I had made a bet for a small sum that neither side would attack within the next few days; but now I could not even shake my head one way or the other, and it required the utmost self-possession and artifice of which I was master to evade the acute inquiries and suggestions of my good friends. I was determined to go — they were equally bent upon remaining; and so we parted after a short but very pleasant cruise together.

We had arranged with Mr. Brown that we would look out for him on leaving the harbor, and a bottle of wine was put in the remnants of our ice to drink farewell; but it was almost dark as the Diana shot out seawards between Pickens and M'Rae; and for some anxious minutes we were doubtful which would be the first to take a shot at us. Our tablecloth still fluttered; but the color might be invisible. A lantern was hoisted astern by my order as soon as the schooner was clear of the forts; and with a cool sea-breeze we glided out into the night, the black form of the Powhattan being just visible, the rest of the squadron lost in the darkness. We strained our eyes for the Oriental, but in vain; and it occurred to us that it would scarcely be a very safe proceeding to stand from the Confederate forts down toward the guard-ship, unless under the convoy of the Oriental. It seemed quite certain she must be cruising some way to the westward, waiting for us.

The wind was from the north, on the best point for our return; and the Diana, heeling over in the smooth water, proceeded on her way toward Mobile, running so close to the shore that I could shy a biscuit on the sand. She seemed to breathe the wind through her sails, and flew with a crest of flame at her bow, and a bubbling wake of meteor-like streams flowing astern, as though liquid metal were flowing from a furnace.

The night was exceedingly lovely, but after the heat of the day the horizon was somewhat hazy. “No sign of the Oriental on our lee-bow?” “Nothing at all in sight, sir, ahead or astern.” Sharks and large fish ran off from the shallows as we passed, and rushed out seawards in runs of brilliant light. The Perdida was left far astern.

On sped the Diana, but no Oriental came in view. I felt exceedingly tired, heated, and fagged; had been up early, ridden in a broiling sun, gone through batteries, examined forts, sailed backwards and forwards, so I was glad to turn in out of the night dew, and, leaving injunctions to the captain to keep a bright look out for the Federal boarding schooner, I went to sleep without the smallest notion that I had seen my last of Mr. Brown.

I had been two or three hours asleep when I was awoke by the negro cook, who was leaning over the berth, and, with teeth chattering, said, “Monsieur! nous sommes perdus! un bâtiment de guerre nous poursuit  — il va tirer bientôt. Nous serons coulé! Oh, Mon Dieu! Oh, Mon Dieu!” I started up and popped my head through the hatchway. The skipper himself was at the helm, glancing from the compass to the quivering reef points of the mainsail. “What's the matter, captain?” “Waal, sir,” said the captain, speaking very slowly, “There has been a something a running after us for nigh the last two hours, but he ain't a gaining on us. I don't think he'll kitch us up nohow this time; if the wind holds this pint a leetle, Diana will beat him.”

The confidence of coasting captains in their own craft is an hallucination which no risk or danger will ever prevent them from cherishing most tenderly. There's not a skipper from Hartlepool to Whitstable who does not believe his Maryanne Smith or the Two Grandmothers is able, “on certain pints,” to bump her fat bows, and drag her coal-scuttle shaped stern faster through the sea than any clipper afloat. I was once told by the captain of a Margate Billy Boy he believed he could run to windward of any frigate in Her Majesty's service.

“But, good heavens, man, it may be the Oriental — no doubt it is Mr. Brown who is looking after us.” “Ah! Waal, may be. Whoever it is, he creeped quite close up on me in the dark. It give me quite a sterk when I seen him. ‘May be,’ says I, ‘he is a privateering — pirating — chap.’ So I runs in shore as close as I could; gets my centre board in, and, says I, ‘I’ll see what you're made of, my boy.’ And so we goes on. He ain't a-gaining on us, I can tell you.”

I looked through the glass, and could just make out, half or three quarters of a mile astern, and to leeward, a vessel looking quite black, which seemed to be standing on in pursuit of us. The shore was so close, we could almost have leaped into the surf, for when the centre board was up the Diana did not draw much more than four feet of water. The skipper held grimly on. “You had better shake your wind, and see who it is; it may be Mr. Brown.” “No, sir, Mr. Brown or no, I can't help carrying on now; there's a bank runs all along outside of us, and if I don't hold my course I'll be on it in one minute.” I confess I was rather annoyed, but the captain was master of the situation. He said, that if it had been the Oriental she would have fired a blank gun to bring us to as soon as she saw us. To my inquiries why he did not awaken me when she was first made out, he innocently replied, “You was in such a beautiful sleep, I thought it would be regular cruelty to disturb you.”

By creeping close in shore the Diana was enabled to keep to windward of the stranger, who was seen once or twice to bump or strike, for her sails shivered. “There, she's struck again.” “She's off once more,” and the chase is renewed. Every moment I expected to have my eyes blinded by the flash of her bow gun, but for some reason or another, possibly because she did not wish to check her way, the Oriental — privateer, or whatever it was — saved her powder.

A stern chase is a long chase. It is two o'clock in the morning — the skipper grinned with delight. “I’ll lead him into a pretty mess if he follows me through the ‘Swash,’ whoever he is.” We were but ten miles from Fort Morgan. Nearer and nearer to the shore creeps the Diana.

“Take a cast of the lead, John;” “Nine feet.” “Good. Again.” “Seven feet.” “Again.” “Five feet.” “Charlie, bring the lantern.” We were now in the “Swash,” with a boiling tideway.

Just at the moment that the negro uncovered the lantern out it went, a fact which elicited the most remarkable amount of imprecations ear ever heard. The captain went dancing mad in intervals of deadly calmness, and gave his commands to the crew, and strange oaths to the cook alternately, as the mate sung out, “Five feet and a half.” “About she goes! Confound you, you black scoundrel, I'll teach you,” &c, &c. “Six feet! Eight feet and a half!” “About she comes again.” “Five feet! Four feet and a half.” (Oh, Lord! Six inches under our keel!) And so we went, with a measurement between us and death of inches, not by any means agreeable, in which the captain showed remarkable coolness and skill in the management of his craft, combined with a most unseemly animosity toward his unfortunate cook.

It was very little short of a miracle that we got past the “Elbow,” as the most narrow part of the channel is called, for it was just at the critical moment the binnacle light was extinguished, and went out with a splutter, and there we hail, nor was gun fired — still we stood on. “Captain, had you not better lie to? They'll be sending a round shot after us presently.” “No, sir. They are all asleep in that fort,” replied the indomitable skipper.

Down went his helm and away ran the Diana into Mobile Bay, and was soon safe in the haze beyond shot or shell, running toward the opposite shore. This was glory enough, for the Diana of Mobile. The wind blew straight from the North into our teeth, and at bright sunrise she was only a few miles inside the bay.

All the livelong day was spent in tacking from one low shore to another low shore, through water which looked like pea soup. We had to be sure the pleasure of seeing Mobile from every point of view, east and west, with all the varieties between northing and southing, and numerous changes in the position of steeples, sandhills, and villas, the sun roasting us all the time and boiling the pitch out of the seams.

The greatest excitement of the day was an encounter with a young alligator, making an involuntary voyage out to sea in the tide-way. The crew said he was drowning, having lost his way or being exhausted by struggling with the current. He was about ten feet long, and appeared to be so utterly done up that he would willingly have come aboard as he passed within two yards of us; but desponding as he was, it would have been positive cruelty to have added him to the number of our party.

The next event of the day was dinner, in which Charlie out-rivalled himself by a tremendous fry of onions and sliced Bologna sausage, and a piece of pig, which had not decided whether it was to be pork or bacon.

Having been fourteen hours beating some twenty-seven miles, I was landed at last at a wharf in the suburbs of the town about five o'clock in the evening. On my way to the Battle House I met seven distinct companies marching through the streets to drill, and the air was filled with sounds of bugling and drumming. In the evening a number of gentlemen called upon me to inquire what I thought of Fort Pickens and Pensacola, and I had some difficulty in carrying their very home questions, but at last adopted a formula which appeared to please them — I assured my friends I thought it would be an exceedingly tough business whenever the bombardment took place.

One of the most important steps which I have yet heard of has excited little attention, namely, the refusal of the officer commanding Fort MacHenry, at Baltimore, to obey a writ of habeas corpus issued by a judge of that city for the person of a soldier of his garrison. This military officer takes upon himself to aver there is a state of civil war in Baltimore, which he considers sufficient legal cause for the suspension of the writ.

SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and South, p. 210-24