Diary of William Howard Russell: May 25, 1861

Virginia has indeed been invaded by the Federals. Alexandria has been seized. It is impossible to describe the excitement and rage of the people; they take, however, some consolation in the fact that Colonel Ellsworth, in command of a regiment of New York Zouaves, was shot by J. T. Jackson, the landlord of an inn in the city, called the Marshall House. Ellsworth, on the arrival of his regiment in Alexandria, proceeded to take down the Secession flag, which had been long seen from the President's windows. He went out upon the roof, cut it from the staff, and was proceeding with it down-stairs, when a man rushed out of a room, levelled a double-barrelled gun, shot Colonel Ellsworth dead, and fired the other barrel at one of his men, who had struck at the piece, when the murderer presented it at the Colonel. Almost instantaneously, the Zouave shot Jackson in the head, and as he was falling dead thrust his sabre bayonet through his body. Strange to say, the people of New Orleans, consider Jackson was completely right, in shooting the Federal Colonel, and maintain that the Zouave, who shot Jackson, was guilty of murder. Their theory is that Ellsworth had come over with a horde of ruffianly abolitionists, or, as the “Richmond Examiner” has it, “the band of thieves, robbers, and assassins in the pay of Abraham Lincoln, commonly known as the United States Army,” to violate the territory of a sovereign State, in order to execute their bloody and brutal purposes, and that he was in the act of committing a robbery, by taking a flag which did not belong to him, when he met his righteous fate.

It is curious to observe how passion blinds man's reason, in this quarrel. More curious still to see, by the light of this event, how differently the same occurrence is viewed by Northerners and Southerners respectively. Jackson is depicted in the Northern papers as a fiend and an assassin; even his face in death is declared to have worn a revolting expression of rage and hate. The Confederate flag which was the cause of the fatal affray, is described by one writer, as having been purified of its baseness, by contact with Ellsworth's blood. The invasion of Virginia is hailed on all sides of the North with the utmost enthusiasm. “Ellsworth is a martyr hero, whose name is to be held sacred forever.”

On the other hand, the Southern papers declare that the invasion of Virginia, is “an act of the Washington tyrants, which indicates their bloody and brutal purpose to exterminate the Southern people. The Virginians will give the world another proof, like that of Moscow, that a free people, fighting on a free soil, are invincible when contending for all that is dear to man.” Again — “A band of execrable cut-Croats and jail-birds, known as the Zouaves of New York, under that chief of all scoundrels, Ellsworth, broke open the door of a citizen, to tear down the flag of the house — the courageous owner met the favorite hero of the Yankees in his own hall, alone, against thousands, and shot him through the heart — he died a death which emperors might envy, and his memory will live through endless generations.” Desperate, indeed, must have been the passion and anger of the man who, in the fullest certainty that immediate death must be its penalty, committed such a deed. As it seems to me, Colonel Ellsworth, however injudicious he may have been, was actually in the performance of his duty when taking down the flag of an enemy.

In the evening I visited Mr. Slidell, whom I found at home, with his family, Mrs. Slidell and her sister Madame Beauregard, wife of the general, two very charming young ladies, daughters of the house, and a parlor full of fair companions, engaged, as hard as they could, in carding lint with their fair hands. Among the company was Mr. Slidell's son, who had just travelled from school at the North, under a feigned name, in order to escape violence at the hands of the Union mobs which are said to be insulting and outraging every Southern man. The conversation, as is the case in most Creole domestic circles, was carried on in French, I rarely met a man whose features have a greater finesse and firmness of purpose than Mr. Slidell's; his keen gray eye is full of life ; his thin, firmly-set lips indicate resolution and passion. Mr. Slidell, though born in a Northern State, is perhaps one of the most determined disunionists in the Southern Confederacy; he is not a speaker of note, nor a ready stump orator, nor an able writer; but he is an excellent judge of mankind, adroit, persevering, and subtle, full of device, and fond of intrigue; one of those men, who, unknown almost to the outer world, organizes and sustains a faction, and exalts it into the position of a party — what is called here a “wire-puller.” Mr. Slidell is to the South something greater than Mr. Thurlow Weed has been to his party in the North. He, like every one else, is convinced that recognition must come soon; but, under any circumstances, he is quite satisfied, the government and independence of the Southern Confederacy are as completely established as those of any power in the world. Mr. Slidell and the members of his family possess naïveté, good sense, and agreeable manners; and the regrets I heard expressed in Washington society, at their absence, had every justification.

I supped at the club, which I visited every day since I was made an honorary member, as all the journals are there, and a great number of planters and merchants, well acquainted with the state of affairs in the South. There were two Englishmen present, Mr. Lingam and another, the most determined secessionists and the most devoted advocates of slavery I have yet met in the course of my travels.

SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and South, p. 235-8

John Lothrop Motley to Mary Benjamin Motley, June 20, 1861

Washington,

June 20th, 1861.

My Dearest Mary, — I told you that I went with Seward in the evening of Monday to see the President. He looks younger than I expected — less haggard than the pictures — and on the whole, except for his height, which is two or three inches above six feet, would not be remarked in any way as ill- or well-looking. His conversation was commonplace enough, and I can hardly remember a single word that he said, except when we were talking — all three — about the military plans in progress, he observed, not meaning anything like an epigram, “Scott will not let us outsiders know anything of his plans.” He seemed sincere and honest, however, and steady, but of course it is quite out of the question for me to hazard an opinion on so short an acquaintance as to his moral or intellectual qualities.

Seward impresses me as being decidedly a man of intellect, but seems an egotist. . . . There is no doubt whatever that the early impressions of the Foreign Ministers here were favourable to the success of the rebellion, and that these impressions were conveyed to their Governments. Mercier, the French Minister, was most decided in his views and his sympathies, while Lord Lyons, calm and quiet as you know him to be, as well as sagacious and right-minded, had also little doubt, I suspect, six or seven weeks ago that the secession or revolution was an accomplished fact. Hence the anxiety of their Governments to be on good terms with the rebels, particularly after the astounding misrepresentations of the Southern commissioners. It amuses Americans very much when I tell them that the recognition of Mr. Adams was remonstrated against by those individuals.

I dined with Lord Lyons yesterday, and M. Mercier was there. Of course we spoke of little else but American affairs. There is no need of quoting the conversation, but it is sufficient to say that little doubt seems now to exist in the minds of either that the United States Government is sure to put down this rebellion and remain a great power—greater than ever before.

The encouragement which the rebels have derived from their premature recognition which they have received as belligerents, and still more by the exclusion of our ships of war as well as their pirates from the English ports all over the world, for the purpose of bringing in prizes, while on the contrary France does not exclude our ships of war, but only privateers, has already given the rebellion a new lease of life. Still more pernicious is the hope which is now entertained by the rebels, that so soon as the new cotton crop is ready to come forward — say in October — England will break up our blockade, and of course become instantly involved in war with us. I refuse to contemplate such a possibility. It would be madness on the part of England, for at the very moment when it would ally itself with the South against the United States, for the sake of supplying the English manufacturers with their cotton, there would be a cry of twenty millions as from one mouth for the instant emancipation of all the slaves.

Nothing could resist that cry. The sentiment of the Free States would be more overwhelming even than its manifestation so lately, which has surprised the world by the rising as it were out of the earth in the brief space of six weeks, of a well equipped and disciplined army of 250,000 men. The alliance of England with the South for the sake of re-opening the cotton ports would have for its instant result the total destruction of the cotton interest. An invading army at half a dozen different ports would proclaim the instant abolition of slavery.

There is not the slightest exaggeration in this. No logic can be more inexorable, and the opinion is avowed on all sides.

To break our blockade for the sake of getting cotton for Manchester, would lead to the total extermination of the cotton crop for many a long year. No English statesman can be blind to this, and therefore I do not fear any interference on the part of England. The South, however, does expect such interference, and will in consequence prolong its struggle a little.

I passed the whole of the day before yesterday on the other side of the Potomac — the “sacred soil of Virginia.” We hired a carriage and took it on board a small steamer plying to Alexandria. The sail for about half a dozen miles along the broad, magnificent Potomac, under a cloudless sky, but protected by an awning, was very pleasant. The heat is not excessive yet, and there is usually a good air stirring. The expanse of hill and dale and the wooded heights which surround the margin of the beautiful river make a delightful passage of scenery. Alexandria, but lately a bustling tobacco port, is now like a city of the dead so far as anything like traffic is concerned. It is the head-quarters of General McDowell, an experienced army officer, who commands all the Union troops (some 25,000) in this part of Virginia.

We went to the Marshall House, the principal hotel of the place, where, as I suppose you read in the papers, Colonel Ellsworth of the New York Zouaves was killed. He had gone in person to the top of the house to cut down a Secession flag, and was coming down the stairs with it, when he was shot by the master of the house, one Jackson, who in his turn was instantly despatched by a private in the regiment. Ellsworth is much regretted as a young officer of great courage and irreproachable character.

By the way, you should read in the Atlantic for June and July a very spirited account of the march of the New York 7th to Washington. It was written by Major Winthrop of New York, who was killed the other day in that unlucky and blundering affair of General Pierce at Great Bethel. These outpost skirmishes are of little consequence to their ultimate results, but they serve to encourage the enemy a little. On the other hand, they read a useful lesson to Government upon the folly of appointing militia officers to high command when there is no lack of able and experienced army officers. Of these there are plenty, and no idea is more ridiculous than that the South has got all the officers and all the military material. The bone and sinew of the Free States are probably the best raw material for troops in the world. General Scott told me last night that the Massachusetts volunteers in a few months would be equal to the best regulars. To an unsophisticated eye they are nearly so already.

A regiment marched into Washington yesterday morning— the Massachusetts 1st—and with their steady march, stout frames, good equipments, and long train of baggage waggons, drawn by admirable teams of horses, following them, they looked very business-like, I assure you. And this regiment is but a tenth part of the men whom Massachusetts has already contributed. As for New York, I am afraid to say how many are already here, and they are wonderfully well-drilled — at least 20,000 — and they can send on as many more as can possibly be required. The contention now among the States is to get the largest proportion of their regiments accepted. The manner in which these great armies have been so suddenly improvised is astounding to foreigners. “C'est le pays des improvisations” said Mr. Mercier to me yesterday. From Alexandria we went on to Shuter's Hill, one of the heights commanding Washington, where, under guidance of Colonel Wright, the engineer who built the works, we examined the very considerable fortifications which have been erected here.

It is very interesting to see the volunteers working with pick and spade under the broiling sun of Virginia, without complaint or inconvenience. They are men who have never doubted that labour was honourable.

We afterwards went to Arlington House, formerly the seat of Washington Custis, and now the property of General Lee. He is an excellent officer, and was, before his defection, a favourite of General Scott. The place has great natural beauties of hill and dale, lawn and forest, and commands a magnificent view of Washington and the whole valley of the Potomac; but the house is mean. It is now the head-quarters of General McDowell (I was wrong in saying further back that these were at Alexandria). Colonel Heintzelmann commands there, and there are some New York regiments encamped in the grounds. I observed one alley through the tents had been christened Fifth Avenue. The property is thoroughly respected, and the soldiers have even amused their leisure in planting little gardens about their tents instead of destroying or defacing anything.

Thus we passed the day in going about the lines from one point to another, receiving explanations of everything from most intelligent officers — generally of the regular army. The works at the Tete du Pont, to defend the mile-long bridge which crosses the Potomac from the Virginia side to Washington, are very thorough, and the attempt upon Washington, if made, must, I think, result in a total defeat. I passed an hour with General Scott last night at his house in Washington. He tells me still that he expects an attack daily along the whole line, says that the rebels are perhaps in greater number than those which he has in the immediate neighbourhood, but that his are much better troops. I could not make out that he had any reasons to expect an attack, except upon the logical ground that they must do it, or come to grief by remaining inactive. They are poorly provisioned, impatient, and in danger of disbanding. Meantime, Scott has secured Harper's Ferry, a most important strategical position, without striking a blow. They were forced to evacuate the place to escape being surrounded. “Eeate d savoir” how it will be at Manassas Junction. The General pleases me exceedingly. He is in manner quiet, but hale, vigorous, and full of energy, and has no doubt whatever of bringing the whole matter to a happy issue within a reasonable time. But the things which annoy him most are the lying telegrams of the newspapers and the general impatience of outsiders. I spent an hour and a half with Seward last evening, and afterwards called at the White House on Mrs. Lincoln. She is rather nice-looking, youngish, with very round white arms, well dressed, chatty enough, and if she would not, like all the South and West, say “Sir” to you every instant, as if you were a royal personage, she would be quite agreeable.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, editor, The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley in Two Volumes, Volume 1, p. 382-7

Diary of Judith W. McGuire: May 25, 1861

Fairfax C. H. — The day of suspense is at an end. Alexandria and its environs, including, I greatly fear, our home, are in the hands of the enemy. Yesterday morning, at an early hour, as I was in my pantry, putting up refreshments for the barracks preparatory to a ride to Alexandria, the door was suddenly thrown open by a servant, looking wild with excitement, exclaiming, “Oh, madam, do you know?” “Know what, Henry?” “Alexandria is filled with Yankees.” “Are you sure, Henry?” said I, trembling in every limb. “Sure, madam! I saw them myself. Before I got up I heard soldiers rushing by the door; went out, and saw our men going to the cars.” “Did they get off?” I asked, afraid to hear the answer. “Oh, yes, the cars went off full of them, and some marched out; and then I went to King Street, and saw such crowds of Yankees coming in! They came down the turnpike, and some came down the river; and presently I heard such noise and confusion, and they said they were fighting, so I came home as fast as I could.” I lost no time in seeking Mr. ____, who hurried out to hear the truth of the story.  He soon met Dr. ____, who was bearing off one of the editors in his buggy. He more than confirmed Henry's report, and gave an account of the tragedy at the Marshall House. Poor Jackson (the proprietor) had always said that the Confederate flag which floated from the top of his house should never be taken down but over his dead body. It was known that he was a devoted patriot, but his friends had amused themselves at this rash speech. He was suddenly aroused by the noise of men rushing by his room-door, ran to the window, and seeing at once what was going on, he seized his gun, his wife trying in vain to stop him; as he reached the passage he saw Colonel Ellsworth coming from the third story, waving the flag. As he passed Jackson he said, “I have a trophy.” Jackson immediately raised his gun, and in an instant Ellsworth fell dead. One of the party immediately killed poor Jackson. The Federals then proceeded down the street, taking possession of public houses, etc. I am mortified to write that a party of our cavalry, thirty-five in number, was captured. It can scarcely be accounted for. It is said that the Federals notified the authorities in Alexandria that they would enter the city at eight, and the captain was so credulous as to believe them. Poor fellow, he is now a prisoner, but it will be a lesson to him and to our troops generally. Jackson leaves a wife and children. I know the country will take care of them. He is the first martyr. I shudder to think how many more there may be.

The question with us was, what was next to be done?  Mr. ____ had voted for secession, and there were Union people enough around us to communicate every thing of the sort to the Federals; the few neighbours who were left were preparing to be off, and we thought it most prudent to come off too. Pickets were already thrown out beyond Shuter's Hill, and they were threatening to arrest all secessionists. With a heavy heart I packed trunks and boxes, as many as our little carriage would hold; had packing boxes fixed in my room for the purpose of bringing off valuables of various sorts, when I go down on Monday; locked up every thing; gave the keys to the cook, enjoining upon the servants to take care of the cows, “Old Rock,” the garden, the flowers, and last, but not least, J____’s splendid Newfoundland. Poor dog, as we got into the carriage how I did long to take him! When we took leave of the servants they looked sorrowful, and we felt so. I promised them to return to-day, but Mr. ____ was so sick this morning that I could not leave him, and have deferred it until day after to-morrow. Mr. ____ said, as he looked out upon the green lawn just before we set off, that he thought he had never seen the place so attractive; and as we drove off the bright flowers we had planted seemed in full glory; every flower-bed seemed to glow with the “Giant of Battles” and other brilliant roses. In bitterness of heart I exclaimed, “Why must we leave thee, Paradise!” and for the first time my tears streamed. As we drove by “The Seminary,” the few students who remained came out to say “Good-by.” One of them had just returned from Alexandria, where he had seen the bodies of Ellsworth and Jackson, and another, of which we had heard through one of our servants who went to town in the morning. When the Federal troops arrived, a man being ordered to take down the secession flag from above the market-house, and run up the “stars and stripes,” got nearly to the flag, missed his foothold, fell, and broke his neck. This remarkable circumstance was told me by two persons who saw the body. Is it ominous? I trust and pray that it may be.

When we got to Bailey's Cross Roads, Mr. ____ said to me that we were obliged to leave our home, and as far as we have a right to any other, it makes not the slightest difference which road we take — we might as well drive to the right hand as to the left — nothing remains to us but the barren, beaten track. It was a sorrowful thought; but we have kind relations and friends whose doors are open to us, and we hope to get home again before very long. The South did not bring on the war, and I believe that God will provide for the homeless.

About sunset we drove up to the door of this, the house of our relative, the Rev. Mr. B., and were received with the warmest welcome. As we drove through the village we saw the carriage of Commodore F. standing at the hotel door, and were soon followed by the C.'s of our neighbourhood and many others. They told us that the Union men of the town were pointing out the houses of the Secessionists, and that some of them had already been taken by Federal officers. When I think of all this my heart quails within me. Our future is so dark and shadowy, so much may, nay must, happen before we again become quiet, and get back, that I feel sad and dreary. I have no fear for the country — that must and will succeed; but our dear ones! — the representatives of every State, almost every family, from the Potomac to the Gulf of Mexico — how must they suffer, and how must we at home suffer in their behalf!

This little village has two or three companies quartered in it. It seems thoroughly aroused from the quiescent state which it was wont to indulge. Drums are beating, colours flying, and ever and anon we are startled by the sound of a gun. At Fairfax Station there are a good many troops, a South Carolina regiment at Centreville, and quite an army is collecting at Manassas Station. We shall be greatly outnumbered, I know, but numbers cannot make up for the zeal and patriotism of our Southern men fighting for home and liberty.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 17-21