This was one of the most
down-spirited days that ever came to me. All the world appeared selfish and
treacherous. I can get no hold on a good noble sentiment anywhere. I
have scanned over and over the whole moral horizon and it is all dark, the
night clouds seem to have shut down, so stagnant, so dead, so selfish, so
calculating. Is there no right? Are there no consequences attending wrong? How
shall the world move on in all this weight of dead, morbid meanness? Shall lies
prevail forevermore? Look at the state of things, both civil and military, that
curse our Government. The pompous air with which little dishonest pimps lord it
over their betters. Contractors ruining the Nation, and oppressing the poor,
and no one rebukes them. See a monkey-faced official, not twenty rods from me,
oppressing and degrading poor women who come up to his stall to feed their
children, that he may steal with better grace and show to the Government how
much his economy saves it each month. Poor blind Government never feels inside
his pockets, pouching with ill-gotten gain, heavy with sin. His whole
department know it, but it might not be quite wise for them to speak —
they will tell it freely enough, but will not, dare not affirm it — COWARDS!
Congress knows it, but no one can see that it will make votes for him at home
by meddling with it, so it is winked at. The Cabinet know it, but people that
live in glass houses must not throw stones. So it rests, and the women live
lighter and sink lower, God help them. And next an ambitious, dishonest
General lays a political plot to be executed with human life. He is to create a
Senator, some memberships, a Governor, commissions, and all the various offices
of a state, and the grateful recipients are to repay the favor by gaining for
him his confirmation as Major-General. So the poor rank and file are marched
out to do the job, a leader is selected known to be brave to rashness if
need be, and given the command in the dark, that he may never be able to claim
any portion of the glory — so that he cannot say I did it. Doomed, and
he knows it, he is sent on, remonstrates, comes back and explains, is left
alone with the responsibility on his shoulders, forces divided, animals
starving, men suffering, enemy massing in front, and still there he is.
Suddenly he is attacked, defeated as he expected he must be, and the world is
shocked by the tales of his rashness and procedure contrary to orders. He
cannot speak; he is a subordinate officer and must remain silent; the thousands
with him know it, but they must not speak; Congress does not know it,
and refuses to be informed; and the doomed one is condemned and the guilty one
asks for his reward, and the admiring world claims it for him. He has had a
battle and only lost two thousand men and gained nothing. Surely, this
deserved something. And still the world moves on. No wonder it looks dark,
though, to those who do not wear the tinsel. And so my day has been weary with
these thoughts, and my heart heavy and I cannot raise it — I doubt the justice
of almost all I see.
Evening. At eight
Mr. Wilson called. I asked him if the investigation was closed. He replied,
yes, and that General Seymour would leave the Department in disgrace. This was
too much for my fretted soul, and I poured out the vials of my indignation in
no stinted measure. I told him the facts, and what I thought of a Committee
that was too imbecile to listen to the truth when it was presented to them;
that they had made themselves a laughing-stock for even the privates in the
service by their stupendous inactivity and gullibility; that they were all a
set of dupes, not to say knaves, for I knew Gray of New York had been on using
all his blarney with them that was possible to wipe over them, When I had freed
my mind, and it was some time, he looked amazed and called for a written
statement. I promised it. He left. I was anxious to possess myself of the most
reliable facts in existence and decide to go to New York and see Colonel Hall
and Dr. Marsh again; make my toilet ready, write some letters, and at three o'clock
retired.
SOURCE: William Eleazar Barton, The Life of Clara Barton: Founder of the American Red Cross, Volume
1, p. 265-7
