Showing posts with label US Capitol. Show all posts
Showing posts with label US Capitol. Show all posts

Friday, May 10, 2024

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 1, 1861

I cannot but feel depressed at what seems to be great imbecility in the management of our military affairs. By whose fault, I know not. Here we are with one hundred and fifty thousand troops, and we can stand on our National Capitol and see the rebels fortifying on Munson's Hill. I wonder if Gen. McClellan does not need a rest to hold his glass steady whilst he looks at them.

We have just received news of Dupont's having got a foothold in North Carolina. This places us in rear of the enemy, and brightens our prospects wonderfully, if our army there will only press their advantage.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 20

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 2, 1861

The following extract from a letter which I have just written to a friend, is the sum and substance of my thoughts, journalized for to-day. "Major will not write his mother whether an attack on Washington is expected. I will tell you what I think: From the dome of the Capitol we can see the rebels throwing up works just beyond Arlington. Every day or two we have picket skirmishing.

On Wednesday night we had, within a short distance of Washington, seven men set as picket guards. The next day I saw one of the seven wounded in the side by a musket ball. The other six were killed. Almost everybody here is looking for an attack, but I do not believe we shall have one. I have no doubt that Beauregard would like to draw us out to attack him; that he would then retreat, with the hope of drawing us into his nets as he did at Bull Run. But he will not attack us here.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 20-1

Sunday, February 27, 2022

Diary of Gideon Welles: Wednesday, April 19, 1865

The funeral on Wednesday, the 19th, was imposing, sad, and sorrowful. All felt the solemnity, and sorrowed as if they had lost one of their own household. By voluntary action business was everywhere suspended, and the people crowded the streets.

The Cabinet met by arrangement in the room occupied by the President at the Treasury. We left a few minutes before meridian so as to be in the East Room at precisely twelve o'clock, being the last to enter. Others will give the details.

I rode with Stanton in the procession to the Capitol. The attendance was immense. The front of the procession reached the Capitol, it was said, before we started, and there were as many, or more, who followed us. A brief prayer was made by Mr. Gurley in the rotunda, where we left the remains of the good and great man we loved so well. Returning, I left Stanton, who was nervous and full of orders, and took in my carriage President Johnson and Preston King, their carriage having been crowded out of place. Coming down Pennsylvania Avenue after this long detention, we met the marching procession in broad platoons all the way to the Kirkwood House on Twelfth Street.

There were no truer mourners, when all were sad, than the poor colored people who crowded the streets, joined the procession, and exhibited their woe, bewailing the loss of him whom they regarded as a benefactor and father. Women as well as men, with their little children, thronged the streets, sorrow, trouble, and distress depicted on their countenances and in their bearing. The vacant holiday expression had given way to real grief. Seward, I am told, sat up in bed and viewed the procession and hearse of the President, and I know his emotion. Stanton, who rode with me, was uneasy and left the carriage four or five times.

SOURCE: Gideon Welles, Diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy Under Lincoln and Johnson, Vol. 2: April 1, 1864 — December 31, 1866, p. 292-3

Friday, October 11, 2019

Colonel Edward F. Jones to Brigadier-General Benjamin F. Butler, April 30, 1861

UNOFFICIAL.

Headquarters, 6th Regiment, M.V.M. Capitol,
WASHINGTON, April 30th, 1861
General B. F. BUTLER, ANNAPOLIS, MD.

MY DEAR GENERAL: I am anxious to get my regiment out of this Capitol and under canvas. I also understand that camp equipage is coming forward, and what I ask is that you will place me in position to take sufficient for my wants when it comes. I have good quarters here, but the men are getting sick from eating everything which they have a chance to get hold of, and from catching colds which the damp, stone floors furnish to any extent. Also do not place me in any position which will detach me from my regiment, as I want nothing, if God spares my life, but an opportunity to take them home with our laurels untarnished. I received a telegraph from Gov. Andrew to Geo. Abbott, saying “every requisition from Col. Jones will be answered,” and I have sent forward to Gov. Boutwell to take some measures to put us in decent apparel, as they are in just the condition which I prophesied some 3 months since, viz., rag, tag, and bobtail. The idea of getting up an “Esprit de Corps” in a man with his shirt-tail sticking out!

I regret exceedingly that we are separated in this campaign. Please inform of your position and future prospects. I am getting my regiment into pretty good state of discipline, but it was a trial of titles at first, - and you can guess who came out ahead if he came out alive. I have not heard from my family since I left home. Too bad, I cannot succeed in getting me a decent horse. Are they to be had out your way? I do not know what to do in regard to drawing clothing, &c., from
the government here.

Your old Friend,
E. F. Jones

SOURCE: Jessie Ames Marshall, Editor, Private and Official Correspondence of Gen. Benjamin F. Butler During the Period of the Civil War, Volume 1: April 1860 – June 1862, p. 60-1

Monday, May 21, 2018

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Luman Harris Tenney: August 11, 1864

Retained my order for duty but was allowed to go to town. Tried to find Mr. Mills' and Mr. Holtslander's but A. B. gave me the wrong directions. Filled up my requisition and went to Washington and drew clothing. Visited the Capitol.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 127

Friday, March 23, 2018

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Luman Harris Tenney: April 22, 1864

Cars ready and off at 10 A. M. Got to Washington at 4 P. M. Rode to 6th St. wharf and made arrangements for transportation to Giesboro. Rather disappointed in the city of which I have read so much, where so many great men have congregated, where so much treason has been plotted, inhuman laws made. Penn. Ave. is a moderately pretty street, but otherwise the city seems the poorest I was ever in. The capitol is grand, massive, grounds beautiful.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 113

Monday, February 6, 2017

Diary of John Hay: August 13, 1863


Rode to-day with the President and the Secretary of State to the Capitol. Saw the statuary of the east pediment. The President objected to Power’s statue of the Wood chopper, as he did not make a sufficiently clean cut.

Coming home the President told Seward of what Frank Blair said about an interview he had had with Poindexter in the West. Poindexter said, “We are gone up; there is no further use of talking!” “How about your institution?” Frank asked. "Gone to the Devil!"

Seward said: “Slavery is dead; the only trouble is that the fools who support it from the outside do not recognise this, and will not, till the thing is over. In our Masonic warfare we made a great fight. The Masons were beaten; they knew and felt it, and retired from the fight. But the Jack Masons, as they were called, kept up their dismal howls of sympathy for the masons, long after they had given up the fight and forgotten all about it. So now, though slavery is dead, the Democratic party insists on devoting itself to guarding the corpse.” . . . .

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 92-3; For the whole diary entry see Tyler Dennett, Editor, Lincoln and the Civil War in the Diaries and letters of John Hay, p. 79-80.

Sunday, January 22, 2017

Diary of Gideon Welles: Thursday, March 5, 1863

Went on the evening of the 3d inst. to the Capitol. Spent most of the time until eleven o'clock in the President's room. It is my first visit to the Capitol since the session commenced. Was for half an hour on the floor of the House. Thirty-four years ago spent the night of the 3d of March on the floor of the Representatives' Chamber. It was in the old Representatives’ Hall. Andrew Stevenson was Speaker. I first saw Henry Clay that night. He came from the President's room to the House about ten. It was to him the scene of old triumphs, and friends crowded around him.

I subsequently went into the Senate Chamber, a much larger but less pleasant room than the old one, which I first visited in the last days of the second Adams. If the present room is larger, the Senators seemed smaller. My first impressions were doubtless more reverential than those of later times.

The deportment of the Members in both houses was calm and in favorable contrast with what I have ever seen of the closing hours of any session, and I have witnessed many. There was nothing boisterous, and but little that was factious. It was nearly midnight when we left. On the morning of the 4th I was at the Capitol, from ten till twelve. All passed off harmoniously.

The recent dispatches of Consul Morse at London, and information from other sources, render it necessary measures should be taken to prevent the Rebels from getting a considerable naval force afloat.

SOURCE: Gideon Welles, Diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy Under Lincoln and Johnson, Vol. 1: 1861 – March 30, 1864, p. 244-5

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

Diary of John Hay: April 20, 1861

Colonel Washington called this morning but could not see the President.

It would seem like a happy chance to have a General Washington living and fighting among us at this time.

The streets were full of the talk of Baltimore. It seems to be generally thought that a mere handful of men has raised this storm that now threatens the loyalty of a State.

I went up with Nicolay, Pangborn and Whitley to see the Massachusetts troops quartered in the Capitol. The scene was very novel. The contrast was very painful between the grey-haired dignity that filled the Senate Chamber when I saw it last, and the present throng of bright-looking Yankee boys, the most of them bearing the signs of New England rusticity in voice and manner, scattered over the desks, chairs and galleries, some loafing, many writing letters slowly and with plough-hardened hands, or with rapid-glancing clerkly fingers, while Grow stood patient by the desk and franked for everybody. The Hall of Representatives is as yet empty. Lying on a sofa and looking upward, the magnificence of the barracks made me envy the soldiers who should be quartered there. The wide-spreading sky-lights overarching the vast hall like heaven, blushed and blazed with gold and the heraldic devices of the married States, while, all around it, the eye was rested by the massive simple splendor of the stalagmitic bronze reliefs. The spirit of our institutions seemed visibly present to inspire and nerve the acolyte, sleeping in her temple beside his unfleshed sword . . . .

The town is full to-night of feverish rumors about a meditated assault upon the town, and one, which seems to me more probable, on Fort McHenry. The garrison there, is weak and inadequate, and in spite of the acknowledged bravery of Robinson and Hazard, it must fall if attacked.

Ellsworth telegraphs that his regiment has been raised, accepted, and that he wants them sent to Fort Hamilton for preliminary drill. Cameron authorised the answer that the commander there should have orders to that effect. Much is hoped from the gallant Colonel's Bloodtubs. They would be worth their weight in Virginia currency in Fort McHenry to-night.

The Massachusetts men drilled to-night on the Avenue. They afford a happy contrast to the unlicked patriotism that has poured ragged and unarmed out of Pennsylvania. They step together well, and look as if they meant business.

Jim Lane wrote a note to the President to-day, offering to bring any assignable number of northern fighting men over the border at the shortest possible notice. Gen. Scott seems to think that four or five thousand men will be a sufficient garrison to hold this town against any force that may be brought out from Maryland or Virginia woods.

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 13; Tyler Dennett, Editor, Lincoln and the Civil War in the Diaries and Letters of John Hay, Da Cappo Press, 1988 (Paperback), p. 4-6

Sunday, March 27, 2016

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Saturday, May 27, 1865

It is cloudy and still raining some. I received a pass and with six other boys of our company went to the city to spend the day. We went through some of the public buildings, the capital, patent office and the treasury building; they are fine buildings, all being built of marble. We viewed the White House from the street, and went through the Smithsonian Park, which is very beautiful indeed.

The city is full of soldiers viewing the sights. But there is one thing which seems to cast a gloom over the city, and that is, that our beloved President Lincoln is not in the White House, that he was not here to greet us when we passed down Pennsylvania avenue, and that he had to be taken off by the hand of an assassin just when the war was over.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 277-8

Thursday, March 24, 2016

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Wednesday, May 24, 1865

This is a very pleasant day, for which we are all thankful. We left for Washington City at 8 o'clock, and crossing the Potomac river over Long Bridge, marched up to the south side of the capitol. Our column was formed on the east side of the capitol, and at 9 o'clock commenced to move forward past the reviewing stand. The Army of the Tennessee was in the advance, with the Army of Georgia following. General Sherman was riding at the head of his army and he passed down the avenue amidst loud cheering.

The following officers were in command of the different departments: Maj. Gen. O. O. Howard was in command of the Army of the Tennessee, Maj. Gen. John A. Logan commanding the Fifteenth Corps, and Maj. Gen. Frank P. Blair commanding the Seventeenth Corps; the Army of Georgia was in command of Maj. Gen. Slocum, with Maj. Gen. J. C. Davis commanding the Fourteenth Corps, and Maj. Gen. Mower commanding the Twentieth Corps.

The reviewing stand was built on the south side of the avenue, and the army was reviewed by the president of the United States and Lieutenant-General Grant, together with members of the president's cabinet. There were about one hundred thousand spectators along the avenue, and there was great cheering while the army was passing. At times there was hearty laughter, when some of Sherman's “bummers” would fall in behind their regiments, displaying some of the articles, as trophies, which they had taken when marching through Georgia and the Carolinas.

We marched out across Rock creek about four miles northwest of the city and went into camp. Our knapsacks were brought around by the supply train.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 276

Saturday, February 14, 2015

Diary of William Howard Russell: March 26, 1861

After our pleasant breakfast came that necessity for activity which makes such meals disguised as mere light morning repasts take their revenge. I had to pack up, and I am bound to say the moral aid afforded me by the waiter, who stood with a sympathizing expression of face, and looked on as I wrestled with boots, books, and great coats, was of a most comprehensive character. At last I conquered, and at six o'clock p. m. I left the Clarendon, and was conveyed over the roughest and most execrable pavements through several miles of unsympathetic, gloomy, dirty streets, and crowded thoroughfares, over jaw-wrenching street-railway tracks, to a large wooden shed covered with inscriptions respecting routes and destinations on the bank of the river, which as far as the eye could see, was bordered by similar establishments, where my baggage was deposited in the mud. There were no porters, none of the recognized and established aids to locomotion to which we are accustomed in Europe, but a number of amateurs divided the spoil, and carried it into the offices, whilst I was directed to struggle for my ticket in another little wooden box, from which I presently received the necessary document, full of the dreadful warnings and conditions, which railway companies inflict on the public in all free countries.

The whole of my luggage, except a large bag, was taken charge of by a man at the New York side of the ferry, who “checked it through” to the capital — giving me a slip of brass with a number corresponding with a brass ticket for each piece. When the boat arrived at the stage at the other side of the Hudson, in my innocence I called for a porter to take my bag. The passengers were moving out of the capacious ferry-boat in a steady stream, and the steam throat and bell of the engine were going whilst I was looking for my porter; but at last a gentleman passing, said, “I guess y'ill remain here a considerable time before y'ill get any one to come for that bag of yours;” and taking the hint, I just got off in time to stumble into a long box on wheels, with a double row of most uncomfortable seats, and a passage down the middle, where I found a place beside Mr. Sanford, the newly-appointed United States Minister to Belgium, who was kind enough to take me under his charge to Washington.

The night was closing in very fast as the train started, but such glimpses as I had of the continuous line of pretty-looking villages of wooden houses, two stories high, painted white, each with its Corinthian portico, gave a most favorable impression of the comfort and prosperity of the people. The rail passed through the main street of most of these hamlets and villages, and the bell of the engine was tolled to warn the inhabitants, who drew up on the sidewalks, and let us go by. Soon the white houses faded away into faint blurred marks on the black ground of the landscape, or twinkled with starlike lights, and there was nothing more to see. The passengers were crowded as close as they could pack, and as there was an immense iron stove in the centre of the car, the heat and stuffiness became most trying, although I had been undergoing the ordeal of the stove-heated New York houses for nearly a week. Once a minute, at least, the door at either end of the carriage was opened, and then closed with a sharp, crashing noise, that jarred the nerves, and effectually prevented sleep. It generally was done by a man whose sole object seemed to be to walk up the centre of the carriage in order to go out of the opposite door —occasionally it was the work of a newspaper boy, with a sheaf of journals and trashy illustrated papers under his arm. Now and then it was the conductor; but the periodical visitor was a young gentleman with chain and rings, who bore a tray before him, and solicited orders for “gum drops,” and “lemon drops,” which, with tobacco, apples, and cakes, were consumed in great quantities by the passengers

At ten o'clock, P.M., we crossed the river by a ferry-boat to Philadelphia, and drove through the streets, stopping for supper a few moments at the La Pierre Hotel. To judge from the vast extent of the streets, of small, low, yet snug-looking houses, through which we passed, Philadelphia must contain in comfort the largest number of small householders of any city in the world. At the other terminus of the rail, to which we drove in a carriage, we procured for a small sum, a dollar I think, berths in a sleeping-car, an American institution of considerable merit. Unfortunately a party of prize-fighters had a mind to make themselves comfortable, and the result was anything but conducive to sleep. They had plenty of whiskey, and were full of song and fight, nor was it possible to escape their urgent solicitations “to take a drink,” by feigning the soundest sleep. One of these, a big man, with a broken nose, a mellow eye, and a very large display of rings, jewels, chains, and pins, was in very high spirits, and informed us he was “Going to Washington to get a foreign mission from Bill Seward. He wouldn't take Paris, as he didn't care much about French or Frenchmen; but he'd just like to show John Bull how to do it; or he'd take Japan if they were very pressing.” Another told us he was “Going to the bosom of Uncle Abe” (meaning the President) — “that he knew him well in Kentucky years ago, and a high-toned gentleman he was.” Any attempts to persuade them to retire to rest made by the conductors were treated with sovereign contempt; but at last whiskey asserted its supremacy, and having established the point that they “would not sleep unless they pleased,” they slept and snored.

At six, A. M., we were roused up by the arrival of the train at Washington, having crossed great rivers and traversed cities without knowing it during the night. I looked out and saw a vast mass of white marble towering above us on the left, stretching out in colonnaded porticoes, and long flanks of windowed masonry, and surmounted by an unfinished cupola, from which scaffold and cranes raised their black arms. This was the Capitol. To the right was a cleared space of mud, sand, and fields, studded with wooden sheds and huts, beyond which, again, could be seen rudimentary streets of small red brick houses, and some church-spires above them.

Emerging from the station, we found a vociferous crowd of blacks, who were the hackney-coachmen of the place; but Mr. Sanford had his carriage in waiting, and drove me straight to Willard's Hotel where he consigned me to the landlord at the bar. Our route lay through Pennsylvania Avenue — a street of much breadth and length, lined with Ó•lanthus trees, each in a white-washed wooden sentry-box, and by most irregularly-built houses in all kinds of material, from deal plank to marble — of all heights, and every sort of trade. Few shop-windows were open, and the principal population consisted of blacks, who were moving about on domestic affairs. At one end of the long vista there is the Capitol; and at the other, the Treasury buildings — a fine block in marble, with the usual American classical colonnades.

Close to these rises the great pile of Willard's Hotel, now occupied by applicants for office, and by the members of the newly-assembled Congress. It is a quadrangular mass of rooms, six stories high, and some hundred yards square; and it probably contains at this moment more scheming, plotting, planning heads, more aching and joyful hearts, than any building of the same size ever held in the world. I was ushered into a bedroom which had just been vacated by some candidate — whether he succeeded or not I cannot tell, but if his testimonials spoke truth, he ought to have been selected at once for the highest office. The room was littered with printed copies of letters testifying that J. Smith, of Hartford, Conn., was about the ablest, honestest, cleverest, and best man the writers ever knew. Up and down the long passages doors were opening and shutting for men with papers bulging out of their pockets, who hurried as if for their life in and out, and the building almost shook with the tread of the candidature, which did not always in its present aspect justify the correctness of the original appellation.

It was a remarkable sight, and difficult to understand unless seen. From California, Texas, from the Indian Reserves, and the Mormon Territory, from Nebraska, as from the remotest borders of Minnesota, from every portion of the vast territories of the Union, except from the Seceded States, the triumphant Republicans had winged their way to the prey.

There were crowds in the hall through which one could scarce make his way — the writing-room was crowded, and the rustle of pens rose to a little breeze — the smoking-room, the bar, the barber's, the reception-room, the ladies' drawing-room — all were crowded. At present not less than 2,500 people dine in the public room every day. On the kitchen floor there is a vast apartment, a hall without carpets or any furniture but plain chairs and tables, which are ranged in close rows, at which flocks of people are feeding, or discoursing, or from which they are flying away. The servants never cease shoving the chairs to and fro with a harsh screeching noise over the floor, so that one can scarce hear his neighbor speak. If he did, he would probably hear as I did, at this very hotel, a man order breakfast, “Black tea and toast, scrambled eggs, fresh spring shad, wild pigeon, pigs' feet, two robins on toast, oysters,” and a quantity of breads and cakes of various denominations. The waste consequent on such orders is enormous — and the ability required to conduct these enormous establishments successfully is expressed by the common phrase in the States, “Brown is a clever man, but he can't manage an hotel.” The tumult, the miscellaneous nature of the company — my friends the prize-fighters are already in possession of the doorway — the heated, muggy rooms, not to speak of the great abominableness of the passages and halls, despite a most liberal provision of spittoons, conduce to render these institutions by no means agreeable to a European. Late in the day I succeeded in obtaining a sitting-room with a small bedroom attached, which made me somewhat more independent and comfortable — but you must pay highly for any departure from the routine life of the natives. Ladies enjoy a handsome drawing-room, with piano, sofas, and easy chairs, all to themselves.

I dined at Mr. Sanford's, where I was introduced to Mr. Seward, Secretary of State; Mr. Truman Smith, an ex-senator, much respected among the Republican party; Mr. Anthony, a senator of the United States, a journalist, a very intelligent-looking man, with an Israelitish cast of face; Colonel Foster of the Illinois railway, of reputation in the States as a geologist; and one or two more gentlemen. Mr. Seward is a slight, middle-sized man, of feeble build, with the stoop contracted from sedentary habits and application to the desk, and has a peculiar attitude when seated, which immediately attracts attention. A well-formed and large head is placed on a long slender neck, and projects over the chest in an argumentative kind of way, as if the keen eyes were seeking for an adversary; the mouth is remarkably flexible, large but well-formed, the nose prominent and aquiline, the eyes secret, but penetrating, and lively with humor of some kind twinkling about them; the brow bold and broad, but not remarkably elevated; the white hair silvery and fine — a subtle, quick man, rejoicing in power, given to perorate and to oracular utterances, fond of badinage, bursting with the importance of state mysteries, and with the dignity of directing the foreign policy of the greatest country — as all Americans think — in the world. After dinner he told some stories of the pressure on the President for place, which very much amused the guests who knew the men, and talked freely and pleasantly of many things — stating, however, few facts positively. In reference to an assertion in a New York paper, that orders had been given to evacuate Sumter, “That,” he said, “is a plain lie — no such orders have been given. We will give up nothing we have — abandon nothing that has been intrusted to us. If people would only read these statements by the light of the President's inaugural, they would not be deceived.” He wanted no extra session of Congress. “History tells us that kings who call extra parliaments lose their heads,” and he informed the company he had impressed the President with his historical parallels.

All through this conversation his tone was that of a man very sanguine, and with a supreme contempt for those who thought there was anything serious in secession. “Why,” said he, “I myself, my brothers, and sisters, have been all secessionists — we seceded from home when we were young, but we all went back to it sooner or later. These States will all come back in the same way.” I doubt if he was ever in the South; but he affirmed that the state of living and of society there was something like that in the State of New York sixty or seventy years ago. In the North all was life, enterprise, industry, mechanical skill. In the South there was dependence on black labor, and an idle extravagance which was mistaken for elegant luxury — tumble-down old hackney-coaches, such as had not been seen north of the Potomac for half a century, harness never cleaned, ungroomed horses, worked at the mill one day and sent to town the next, badly furnished houses, bad cookery, imperfect education. No parallel could be drawn between them and the Northern States at all. “You are all very angry,” he said, “about the Morrill tariff. You must, however, let us be best judges of our own affairs. If we judge rightly, you have no right to complain; if we judge wrongly, we shall soon be taught by the results, and shall correct our error. It is evident that if the Morrill tariff fulfils expectations, and raises a revenue, British manufacturers suffer nothing, and we suffer nothing, for the revenue is raised here, and trade is not injured. If the tariff fails to create a revenue, we shall be driven to modify or repeal it.”

The company addressed him as “Governor,” which led to Mr. Seward's mentioning that when he was in England he was induced to put his name down with that prefix in a hotel book, and caused a discussion among the waiters as to whether he was the “Governor” of a prison or of a public company. I hope the great people of England treated Mr. Seward with the attention due to his position, as he would assuredly feel and resent very much any slight on the part of those in high places. From what he said, however, I infer that he was satisfied with the reception he had met in London. Like most Americans who can afford it, he has been up the Nile. The weird old stream has great fascinations for the people of the Mississippi — as far at least as the first cataract.

SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and South, p. 30-6

Sunday, December 21, 2014

Diary of Reverend James Freeman Clarke: January 12, 1863

Smithsonian; Sanitary; Capitol; Senate, House, and Library; Long Bridge.

SOURCE: Edwin Everett Hale, Editor, James Freeman Clarke: Autobiography, Diary and Correspondence, p. 285

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Rose O’Neal Greenhow to William H. Seward, November 17, 1861

Washington, November 17, 1861.
398, 16th Street.
HON. WM. H. SEWARD, SEC. OF STATE.

Sir, — For nearly three months I have been confined a close prisoner, shut out from air and exercise, and denied all communion with family and friends.

“Patience is said to be a great virtue,” and I have practised it to my utmost capacity of endurance.

I am told, sir, that upon your ipse dixit the fate of citizens depends, and that the sign-manual of the ministers of Louis XIV. and XV. was not more potential in their day than that of the Secretary of State in 1861.

I therefore most respectfully submit that on Friday, August 23rd, without warrant or other show of authority, I was arrested by the detective police, and my house taken in charge by them: that all my private letters and papers of a life-time were read and examined by them: that every law of decency was violated in the search of my house and person, and by the surveillance over me.

We read in history that the poor Marie Antoinette had a paper torn from her bosom by lawless hands, and that even a change of linen had to be effected in sight of her brutal captors. It is my sad experience to record even more revolting outrages than that, for during the first days of my imprisonment, whatever necessity forced me to seek my chamber, a detective stood sentinel at the open door. And thus, for a period of seven days, I, with my little child, was placed absolutely at the mercy of men without character or responsibility; that during the first evening a portion of those men became brutally drunk, and boasted in my hearing of the nice times they expected to have with the female prisoners, and that rude violence was used towards a servant girl during that first evening. For any show of decorum afterwards practised towards me I was indebted to the detective called Captain Dennis.

In the careful analysis of my papers I deny the existence of a line that I had not a perfect right to have written or to have received. Freedom of speech and of opinion is the birthright of Americans, guaranteed to us by our charter of liberty — the Constitution of the United States. I have exercised my prerogative, and have openly avowed my sentiments. During the political struggle I opposed your Republican party with every instinct of self-preservation. I believed your success a virtual nullification of the Constitution, and that it would entail upon us all the direful consequences which have ensued. These sentiments have doubtless been found recorded among my papers, and I hold them as rather a proud record of my sagacity.

I must be permitted to quote from a letter of yours, in regard to “Russell of the London Times,” which you conclude with these admirable words: Individual errors of opinion may be tolerated, so long as good sense is left to combat them.

By way of illustrating theory and practice, here am I — a prisoner in sight of the executive mansion — in sight of the Capitol, where the proud statesmen of our land have sung their pagans to the blessings of our free institutions. Comment is idle. Freedom of speech, freedom of thought, every right pertaining to the citizen, has been suspended by what, I suppose, the President calls a “military necessity. A blow has been struck by this total disregard of all civil rights against the present system of government far greater in its effects than the severance of the Southern States. The people have been taught to contemn the supremacy of the law, to which all have hitherto bowed, and to look to the military power for protection against its decrees. A military spirit has been developed which will only be subordinate to a military dictatorship. Read history, and you will find that the causes which bring about a revolution rarely predominate at its close, and no people have ever returned to the point from which they started. Even should the Southern States be subdued, and forced back into the Union (which I regard as impossible, with a full knowledge of their resources), a different form of government will be found needful to meet the new developments of national character. There is no class of society, no branch of industry, which this change has not reached, and the dull plodding methodical habits of the past can never be resumed.

You have held me, sir, to a man's accountability, and I therefore claim the right to speak on subjects usually considered beyond a woman's ken, and which you may class as “errors of opinion. I offer no excuse for this long digression, as a three months’ imprisonment, without formula of law, gives me authority for occupying even the precious moments of a Secretary of State.

My object is to call your attention to the fact, that during this long imprisonment I am yet ignorant of the causes of my arrest; that my house has been seized and converted into a prison by the Government; that the valuable furniture it contained has been abused and destroyed; that during some period of my imprisonment I have suffered greatly for want of proper and sufficient food. Also, I have to complain that more recently a woman of bad character —  recognised as having been seen in the streets of Chicago as such, by several of the guard — calling herself Mrs. Onderdunk, was placed here in my house in a room adjoining mine.

In making this exposition, I have no object of appeal to your sympathies. If the justice of my complaint and a decent regard for the world’s opinion do not move you, I should but waste time to claim your attention on any other score.

I may, however, recall to your mind that but a little while since you were quite as much proscribed by public sentiment here, for the opinions and principles you held, as I am now for mine.

I could easily have escaped arrest, having had timely warning. I thought it possible that your statesmanship might prevent such a proclamation of weakness to the world as even the fragment of a once great Government turning its arms against the breasts of women and children. You have the power, sir, and may still further abuse it. You may prostrate the physical strength, by confinement in close rooms and insufficient food. You may subject me to harsher, ruder treatment than I have already received; but you cannot imprison the soul. Every cause worthy of success has had its martyrs. The words of the heroine Corday are applicable here: “C’est le crime qui fait la honte, et non pas l’échafaud. My sufferings will afford a significant lesson to the women of the South, that sex or condition is no bulwark against the surging billows of the “irrepressible conflict.

The “iron heel of power may keep down, but it cannot crush out, the spirit of resistance in a people armed for the defence of their rights; and I tell you now, sir, that you are standing over a crater whose smothered fires in a moment may burst forth.

It is your boast that thirty-three bristling fortifications surround Washington. The fortifications of Paris did not protect Louis Philippe when his hour had come.

In conclusion, I respectfully ask your attention to this my protest, and have the honour to be, &c,
&c, &c,

ROSE O'N. Geeenhow.

SOURCE: Rose O'Neal Greenhow, My Imprisonment and the First Year of Abolition rule at Washington, p. 118-24