As the young gentleman of color, to whom I had given
egregious ransom as well as an advance of wages, did not appear this morning, I
was, after an abortive attempt to boil water for coffee and to get a piece of
toast, compelled to go in next door, and avail myself of the hospitality of
Captain Cecil Johnson, who was installed in the drawing-room of Madame Jost. In
the forenoon, Mr. John Bigelow, whose acquaintance I made, much to my
gratification in time gone by, on the margin of the Lake of Thun, found me out,
and proffered his services; which, as the whilom editor of the “Evening Post”
and as a leading Republican, he was in a position to render valuable and most
effective; but he could not make a Bucephalus to order, and I have been running
through the stables of Washington in vain, hoping to find something up to my
weight — such flankless, screwy, shoulderless, catlike creatures were never
seen — four of them would scarcely furnish ribs and legs enough to carry a man,
but the owners thought that each of them was fit for Baron Rothschild; and then
there was saddlery and equipments of all sorts to be got, which the influx of
officers and the badness and dearness of the material put quite beyond one's
reach. Mr. Bigelow was of opinion that the army would move at once; “But,” said
I, “where is the transport — where the cavalry and guns?” “Oh,” replied he, “I
suppose we have got everything that is required. I know nothing of these
things, but I am told cavalry are no use in the wooded country towards
Richmond.” I have not yet been able to go through the camps, but I doubt very
much whether the material or commissariat of the grand army of the North is at
all adequate to a campaign.
The presumption and ignorance of the New York journals would
be ridiculous were they not so mischievous. They describe “this horde of
battalion companies — unofficered, clad in all kinds of different uniform,
diversely equipped, perfectly ignorant of the principles of military obedience
and concerted action,” — for so I hear it described by United States officers
themselves — as being "the greatest army the world ever saw; perfect in
officers and discipline; unsurpassed in devotion and courage; furnished with
every requisite; and destined on its first march to sweep into Richmond, and to
obliterate from the Potomac to New Orleans every trace of rebellion.”
The Congress met to-day to hear the President's Message
read. Somehow or other there is not such anxiety and eagerness to hear what Mr.
Lincoln has to say as one could expect on such a momentous occasion. It would
seem as if the forthcoming appeal to arms had overshadowed every other
sentiment in the minds of the people. They are waiting for deeds, and care not
for words. The confidence of the New York papers, and of the citizens,
soldiers, and public speakers, contrast with the dubious and gloomy views of
the military men; but of this Message itself there are some incidents
independent of the occasion to render it curious, if not interesting. The
President has, it is said, written much of it in his own fashion, which has
been revised and altered by his Ministers; but he has written it again and
repeated himself, and after many struggles a good deal of pure Lincolnism goes
down to Congress.
At a little after half-past eleven I went down to the
Capitol. Pennsylvania Avenue was thronged as before, but on approaching Capitol
Hill, the crowd rather thinned away, as though they shunned, or had no
curiosity to hear, the President's Message. One would have thought that, where
every one who could get in was at liberty to attend the galleries in both
Houses, there would have been an immense pressure from the inhabitants and
strangers in the city, as well as from the citizen soldiers, of which such
multitudes were in the street; but when I looked up from the floor of the
Senate, I was astonished to see that the galleries were not more than three parts
filled. There is always a ruinous look about an unfinished building when it is
occupied and devoted to business. The Capitol is situated on a hill, one face
of which is scraped by the road, and has the appearance of being formed of
heaps of rubbish. Towards Pennsylvania Avenue the long frontage abuts on a lawn
shaded by trees, through which walks and avenues lead to the many entrances
under the porticoes and colonnades; the face which corresponds on the other
side looks out on heaps of brick and mortar, cut stone, and a waste of marble
blocks lying half buried in the earth and cumbering the ground, which, in the
magnificent ideas of the founders and planners of the city, was to be occupied
by stately streets. The cleverness of certain speculators in land prevented the
execution of the original idea, which was to radiate all the main avenues of
the city from the Capitol as a centre, the intermediate streets being formed by
circles drawn at regularly increasing intervals from the Capitol, and
intersected by the radii. The speculators purchased up the land on the side
between the Navy Yard and the site of the Capitol; the result — the land is
unoccupied, except by paltry houses, and the capitalists are ruined.
The Capitol would be best described by a series of
photographs. Like the Great Republic itself, it is unfinished. It resembles it
in another respect: it looks best at a distance; and, again, it is incongruous
in its parts. The passages are so dark that artificial light is often required
to enable one to find his way. The offices and bureaux of the committees are
better than the chambers of the Senate and the House of Representatives. All
the encaustics and the white marble and stone staircases suffer from tobacco
juice, though there is a liberal display of spittoons at every corner. The
official messengers, doorkeepers, and porters wear no distinctive badge or
dress. No policemen are on duty, as in our Houses of Parliament; no soldiery,
gendarmerie, or sergens-de-ville in the precincts; the crowd wanders about the
passages as it pleases, and shows the utmost propriety, never going where it
ought not to intrude. There is a special gallery set apart for women; the
reporters are commodiously placed in an ample gallery, above the Speaker's
chair; the diplomatic circle have their gallery facing the reporters, and they
are placed so low down in the somewhat depressed chamber, that every word can
be heard from speakers in the remotest parts of the house very distinctly.
The seats of the members are disposed in a manner somewhat
like those in the French Chambers. Instead of being in parallel rows to the
walls, and at right angles to the Chairman's seat, the separate chairs and
desks of the senators are arranged in semicircular rows. The space between the
walls and the outer semicircle is called the floor of the house, and it is a
high compliment to a stranger to introduce him within this privileged place.
There are leather-cushioned seats and lounges put for the accommodation of
those who may be introduced by senators, or to whom, as distinguished members
of congress in former days, the permission is given to take their seats.
Senators Sumner and Wilson introduced me to a chair, and made me acquainted
with a number of senators before the business of the day began.
Mr. Sumner, as the Chairman of the Committee on Foreign
Relations, is supposed to be viewed with some jealousy by Mr. Seward, on
account of the disposition attributed to him to interfere in diplomatic questions;
but if he does so, we shall have no reason to complain, as the Senator is most
desirous of keeping the peace between the two countries, and of mollifying any
little acerbities and irritations which may at present exist between them.
Senator Wilson is a man who has risen from what would be considered in any
country but a republic the lowest ranks of the people. He apprenticed himself
to a poor shoemaker when he was twenty-two years of age, and when he was
twenty-four years old he began to go to school, and devoted all his earnings to
the improvement of education. He got on by degrees, till he set up as a master
shoemaker and manufacturer, became a “major-general” of State militia; finally
was made Senator of the United States, and is now “Chairman of the Committee of
the Senate on Military Affairs.” He is a bluff man, of about fifty years of
age, with a peculiar eye and complexion, and seems honest and vigorous. But is
he not going ultra crepidam in such a post? At present he is much
perplexed by the drunkenness which prevails among the troops, or rather by the
desire of the men for spirits, as he has a New England mania on that point. One
of the most remarkable-looking men in the House is Mr. Sumner. Mr. Breckinridge
and he would probably be the first persons to excite the curiosity of a
stranger, so far as to induce him to ask for their names. Save in height — and
both are a good deal over six feet — there is no resemblance between the
champion of States' Rights and the orator of the Black Republicans. The massive
head, the great chin and jaw, and the penetrating eyes of Mr. Breckinridge
convey the idea of a man of immense determination, courage, and sagacity. Mr.
Sumner's features are indicative of a philosophical and poetical turn of
thought, and one might easily conceive that he would be a great advocate, but
an indifferent leader of a party.
It was a hot day; but there was no excuse for the slop-coats
and light-colored clothing and felt wide-awakes worn by so many senators in
such a place. They gave the meeting the aspect of a gathering of bakers or
millers; nor did the constant use of the spittoons beside their desks, their
reading of newspapers and writing letters during the dispatch of business, or the
hurrying to and fro of the pages of the House between the seats, do anything
but derogate from the dignity of the assemblage, and, according to European
notions, violate the respect due to a Senate Chamber. The pages alluded to are
smart boys, from twelve to fifteen years of age, who stand below the
President's table, and are employed to go on errands and carry official
messages by the members. They wear no particular uniform, and are dressed-as
the taste or means of their parents dictate.
The House of Representatives exaggerates all the
peculiarities I have observed in the Senate, but the debates are not regarded
with so much interest as those of the Upper House; indeed, they are of far less
importance. Strong-minded statesmen and officers — Presidents or Ministers — do
not care much for the House of Representatives, so long as they are sure of the
Senate; and, for the matter of that, a President like Jackson does not care
much for Senate and House together. There are privileges attached to a seat in
either branch of the Legislature, independent of the great fact that they
receive mileage and are paid for their services, which may add some incentive
to ambition. Thus the members can order whole tons of stationery for their use,
not only when they are in session, but during the recess. Their frank covers
parcels by mail, and it is said that Senators without a conscience have sent
sewing-machines to their wives and pianos to their daughters as little parcels
by post; I had almost forgotten that much the same abuses were in vogue in
England some century ago.
The galleries were by no means full, and in that reserved
for the diplomatic body the most notable person was M. Mercier, the Minister of
France, who, fixing his intelligent and eager face between both hands, watched
with keen scrutiny the attitude and conduct of the Senate. None of the members
of the English Legation were present. After the lapse of an hour, Mr. Hay, the
President's Secretary, made his appearance on the floor, and sent in the
Message to the Clerk of the Senate, Mr. Forney, who proceeded to read it to the
House. It was listened to in silence, scarcely broken except when some senator
murmured “Good, that is so;” but in fact the general purport of it was already
known to the supporters of the Ministry, and not a sound came from the
galleries. Soon after Mr. Forney had finished, the galleries were cleared, and
I returned up Pennsylvania Avenue, in which the crowds of soldiers around
bar-rooms, oyster-shops, and restaurants, the groups of men in officers'
uniform, and the clattering of disorderly mounted cavaliers in the dust,
increased my apprehension that discipline was very little regarded, and that
the army over the Potomac had not a very strong hand to keep it within bounds.
As I was walking over with Capt. Johnson to dine with Lord
Lyons, I met General Scott leaving his office and walking with great difficulty
between two aides-de-camp. He was dressed in a blue frock with gold lace
shoulder straps, fastened round the waist by a yellow sash, and with large
yellow lapels turned back over the chest in the old style, and moved with great
difficulty along the pavement. “You see I am trying to hobble along, but it is
hard for me to overcome my many infirmities. I regret I could not have the
pleasure of granting you an interview to-day, but I shall cause it to be
intimated to you when I may have the pleasure of seeing you; meantime I shall
provide you with a pass and the necessary introductions to afford you all
facilities with the army.”
After dinner I made a round of visits, and heard the
diplomatists speaking of the Message; few, if any of them, in its favor. With
the exception perhaps of Baron Gerolt, the Prussian Minister, there is not one
member of the Legations who justifies the attempt of the Northern States to
assert the supremacy of the Federal Government by the force of arms. Lord
Lyons, indeed, in maintaining a judicious reticence, whenever he does speak
gives utterance to sentiments becoming the representative of Great Britain at
the court of a friendly Power, and the Minister of a people who have been
protagonists to slavery for many a long year.
SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and
South, Vol. 1, p. 383-8
