Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, November 14, 1861

This morning our Brigade Surgeon ordered me to leave the hospital for a few days, on account of my fatigue and prostration. He said that a regard for my health demanded it, and I must go where I pleased. I rode to Arlington, the headquarters of General King. The Arlington house, I believe, is (unless confiscated) the property of Gen. Lee. It is a magnificent mansion, overlooking Georgetown, Washington, Alexandria, and miles of the beautiful Potomac. In a room of this house, said to have been a favorite room of General Washington, I found my old friend Surgeon ———,badly broken by the fatigue and excitement of the campaign. I called on him, in company with Doctor A——, and after talking of his illness for half an hour, Doctor A. proposed to him to have my advice, to which he replied "Yes! if he will not medicate me too much." I said, "Doctor, I will prescribe for you, and with a single dose will medicate every fibre of your body, and by a healthy shock, restore you to health at once." With a look as if he thought me a hyena, he asked: "What do you mean to do with me?" "To take you out of this place and put you for thirty days under the care of your wife and family." The poor suffering man grasped my hand, burst into tears and sobbed aloud, "My Colonel won't consent to it." For a moment, forgetting his religion, and not having the fear of military commanders before my eyes, "Your Colonel may go to the d-vil, and you shall have a furlough." I rode immediately to medical headquarters in Washington, procured him the promise of a furlough as soon as his papers could be sent in, returned, informed him of it, and had the pleasure on my long night ride back to camp, of feeling that I had contributed something to the happines, and, perhaps, had saved the life of a good and worthy man. How easy for any man, however humble his position, to find opportunities of doing good, if he will only wear the "spectacles of benevolence."

After the vandalism I have witnessed in the destruction of property, in and about the houses of rebels and elsewhere, it was a pleasurable relief to find here, that General King, in the goodness of his always good heart, had enforced respect for the property and furniture. The garden, with its fences, is preserved, and the walls of almost every room in this immense old building, are covered with the rich paintings and old family pictures, left hanging when this favorite of rebeldom left his home. The garden is fine, but I think does not compare with that of Kalorama. The antique bureaus and [s]ide-boards calling up impressions of generations long passed away, are still tenants of the building; and the halls recall Scott's fine description of the Halls of the Douglass, where the arms of the hunters, and the trophies of the hunt, mingled with the trappings of the warrior, constituted the attractive features of the chieftain's forest home. Over the halls, and at every angle in the stairs, were the antlers of the elk and the red-deer fastened to the walls and nearly interlocking their branches over my head as I walked through. They were hung, too, with the arms of the hunter and the warrior. So perfectly does this position command Washington, that had the rebels there secretly collected a dozen mortars, they might have fired the city before a gun could have been brought to bear on them. Everybody is talking of a prospect of a move within three days, but the origin of the reports I know not; perhaps in the impatience of the army to be led forward.

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, pp. 53-5

Judge I. T. Bosworth to Daniel S. Dickinson, March 9, 1857

BINGHAMTON, March 1, 1857.

MY DEAR JUDGE—Your favor of the 27th came duly to hand, and, as the merchants say, "contents noted." I penned you my "incomprehensible" note while in the tedious attendance upon rather a beggarly circuit. It is said that when a pun or witticism needs explanation to give it point, it is a sorry manifestation, and I do not see why what our old and departed friend Judge S. was wont to call a "sarcasm" does not fall within the same category. However, at the hazard of coming within the rule, I will translate my Greek.

My eye, at the moment of writing, fell upon the movements of the Corruption Committee at Washington, and seeing that the Hon. ——— was to be expelled, reminded me of how much I had enjoyed, some twenty-three years ago, laughing at you for turning the same individual out of your law office for stealing a large pane of glass out of the door of E——'s newly fitted up house over the Chenango Bridge, to supply one that he had broken out of the door of your office; and to complete the joke he got a light too large by three inches one way and one the other. The fun I had at the time over it all came back to me, and hence my revival of it to you thus obscurely;—not thinking that the brick and mortar, excitement and turmoil, and judicial care of the city, had shut you out from keeping track of individuals, as we do in the country.

*          *          *          *          *

Yes, my dear Judge, I might wear out life as you do. I have enjoyed some rather gratifying triumphs in my day, both political and professional; but never anything has so much drawn out my anxiety and solicitude in advance, has so much mortified and vexed me when adverse, nor afforded me the same satisfaction in success, as the matter to which you allude.

I still like professional pursuits better than official life. If I had money to spend profusely, I could enjoy myself in rural occupations; but eternal, like internal improvement, is too expensive a luxury for a poor man.

I like excitement, and as I also want income, it would work well if we did not have so much mere litigation over subjects where the parties cannot pay very large fees, and, if able, no counsel could have the face to charge them. These cases, as you know, are fought out with a pertinacity almost unknown in the city, or if known, would command a thousand dollars to our one hundred. If you do not engage in them, others will, and hey block up the courts and delay other business at home, and prevent you from going abroad to attend to business of more importance if you have it. The present system is far less pleasant for the country than the former. There is, or rather would be enough good business to engage me constantly if it were not impeded by this profitless litigation, and much time is wasted in this, in working or in waiting, to the prevention of more important business. If I was within four or five hours ride of the city, instead of nine or ten, I would open an office there.

Mrs. Dickinson and daughters join me in regards to yourself and Mrs. Bosworth and family

Sincerely yours,

D. S. DICKINSON.

SOURCE: John R. Dickinson, Editor, Speeches, Correspondence, Etc., of the Late Daniel S. Dickinson of New York, Vol. 2, pp. 500-2

Diary of Adam Gurowski, September 1861

WILL McClellan display unity in conception, and vigor in execution? That is the question. He seems very energetic and active in organizing the army; but he ought to take the field very soon. He ought to leave Washington, and have his headquarters in the camp among the soldiers. The life in the tent will inspire him. It alone inspired Frederick II and Napoleon. Too much organization may become as mischievous as the no organization under Scott. Time, time is everything. The levies will fight well; may only McClellan not be carried away by the notion and the attempt to create what is called a perfect army on European pattern. Such an attempt would be ruinous to the cause. It is altogether impossible to create such an army on the European model, and no necessity exists for it. The rebel army is no European one. Civil wars have altogether different military exigencies, and the great tactics for a civil war are wholly different from the tactics, etc., needed in a regular war. Napoleon differently fought the Vendeans, and differently the Austrians, and the other coalesced armies. May only McClellan not become intoxicated before he puts the cup to his lips.

Fremont disavowed by Lincoln and the administration. This looks bad. I have no considerable confidence in Fremont's high capacities, and believe that his head is turned a little; but in this question he was right in principle, and right in legality. A commander of an army operating separately has the exercise of full powers of war.

The Blairs are not to be accused; I read the letter from F. Blair to his brother. It is the letter of a patriot, but not of an intriguer. Fremont establishes an absurd rule concerning the breach of military discipline, and shows by it his ignorance and narrow-mindedness. So Fremont, and other bungling martinets, assert that nobody has the right to criticise the actions of his commander.

Fremont is ignorant of history, and those around him who put in his head such absurd notions are a pack of mean and servile spit-lickers. An officer ought to obey orders without hesitation, and if he does not he is to be court-martialed and shot. But it is perfectly allowable to criticise them; it is in human nature—it was, is, and will be done in all armies; see in Curtius and other historians of Alexander of Macedon. It was continually done under Napoleon. In Russia, in 1812, the criticism made by almost all the officers forced Alexander I. to leave the army, and to put Kutousoff over Barclay. In the last Italian campaign Austrian officers criticised loudly Giulay, their commander, etc., etc.

Conspiracy to destroy Fremont on account of his slave proclamation. The conspirators are the Missouri slave-holders: Senator Brodhead, old Bates, Scott, McClellan, and their staffs. Some jealousy against him in the Cabinet, but Seward rather on Fremont's side.

McClellan makes his father-in-law, a man of very secondary capacity, the chief of the staff of the army. It seems that McClellan ignores what a highly responsible position it is, and what a special and transcendent capacity must be that of a chief of the staff—the more so when of an army of several hundreds of thousands. I do not look for a Berthier, a Gneisenau, a Diebitsch, or Gortschakoff, but a Marcy will not do.

Colonel Lebedeef, from the staff of the Emperor Alexander II., and professor in the School of the Staff at St. Petersburg, saw here everything, spoke with our generals, and his conclusion is that in military capacity McDowell is by far superior to McClellan. Strange, if true, and foreboding no good.

Mr. Lincoln begins to call a demagogue any one who does not admire all the doings of his administration. Are we already so far?

McClellan under fatal influences of the rampant pro-slavery men, and of partisans of the South, as is a Barlow. All the former associations of McClellan have been of the worst kind—Breckinridgians. But perhaps he will throw them off. He is young, and the elevation of his position, his standing before the civilized world, will inspire and purify him, I hope. Nay, I ardently wish he may go to the camp, to the camp.

McClellan published a slave-catching order. Oh that he may discard those bad men around him! Struggles with evils, above all with domestic, internal evils, absorb a great part of every nation's life. Such struggles constitute its development, are the landmarks of its progress and decline.

The like struggles deserve more the attention of the observer, the philosopher, than all kinds of external wars. And, besides, most of such external wars result from the internal condition of a nation. At any rate, their success or unsuccess almost wholly depends upon its capacity to overcome internal evils. A nation even under a despotic rule may overcome and repel an invasion, as long as the struggle against the internal evils has not broken the harmony between the ruler and the nation. Here the internal evil has torn a part of the constitutional structure; may only the necessary harmony between this high-minded people and the representative of the transient constitutional formula not be destroyed. The people move onward, the formula vacillates, and seems to fear to make any bold step.

If the cause of the freemen of the North succumbs, then humanity is humiliated. This high-spirited exclamation belongs to Tassara, the Minister from Spain. Not the diplomat, but the nobly inspired man uttered it.

But for the authoritative influence of General Scott, and the absence of any foresight and energy on the part of the administration, the rebels would be almost wholly without military leaders, without naval officers. The Johnsons, Magruders, Tatnalls, Buchanans, ought to have been arrested for treason the moment they announced their intention to resign.

Mr. Seward has many excellent personal qualities, besides his unquestionable eminent capacity for business and argument; but why is he neutralizing so much good in him by the passion to be all in all, to meddle with everything, to play the knowing one in military affairs, he being in all such matters as innocent as a lamb? It is not a field on which Seward's hazarded generalizations can be of any earthly use; but they must confuse all.

Seward is free from that coarse, semi-barbarous know-nothingism which rules paramount, not the genuine people, but the would-be something, the half-civilized gentlemen. Above all, know-nothingism pervades all around Scott, who is himself its grand master, and it nestles there par excellence in more than one way. It is, however, to be seen how far this pure American—Scott military wisdom is something real, transcendent. Up to this day, the pure Americanism, West Point schoolboy's conceit, have not produced much. The defences of Washington, so much clarioned as being the product of a high conception and of engineering skill,—these defences are very questionable when appreciated by a genuine military eye. A Russian officer of the military engineers, one who was in the Crimea and at Sebastopol, after having surveyed these defences here, told me that the Russian soldiers who defended Sebastopol, and who learned what ought to be defences, would prefer to fight outside than inside of the Washington forts, bastions, defences, etc., etc., etc.

Doubtless many foreigners coming to this country are not much, but the greatest number are soldiers who saw service and fire, and could be of some use at the side of Scott's West Point greenness and presumption.

If we are worsted, then the fate of the men of faith in principles will be that of Sisyphus, and the coming generation for half a century will have uphill work.

If not McClellan himself, some intriguers around him already dream, nay, even attempt to form a pure military, that is, a reckless, unprincipled, unpatriotic party. These men foment the irritation between the arrogance of the thus-called regular army, and the pure abnegation of the volunteers. Oh, for battles! Oh, for battles!

Fremont wished at once to attack Fort Pillow and the city of Memphis. It was a bold move, but the concerted civil and military wisdom grouped around the President opposed this truly great military conception.

Mr. Lincoln is pulled in all directions. His intentions are excellent, and he would have made an excellent President for quiet times. But this civil war imperatively demands a man of foresight, of prompt decision, of Jacksonian will and energy. These qualities may be latent in Lincoln, but do not yet come to daylight. Mr. Lincoln has no experience of men and events, and no knowledge of the past. Seward's influence over Lincoln may be explained by the fact that Lincoln considers Seward as the alpha and omega of every kind of knowledge and information.

I still hope, perhaps against hope, that if Lincoln is what the masses believe him to be, a strong mind, then all may come out well. Strong minds, lifted by events into elevated regions, expand more and more; their "mind's eye" pierces through clouds, and even through rocks; they become inspired, and inspiration compensates the deficiency or want of information acquired by studies. Weak minds, when transported into higher regions, become confused and dizzy. Which of the two will be Mr. Lincoln's fate?

The administration hesitates to give to the struggle a character of emancipation; but the people hesitate not, and take Fremont to their heart.

As the concrete humanity, so single nations have epochs of gestation, and epochs of normal activity, of growth, of full life, of manhood. Americans are now in the stage of manhood.

Col. Romanoff, of the Russian military engineer corps, who was in the Crimean war, saw here the men and the army, saw and conversed with the generals. Col. R. is of opinion that McDowell is by far superior to McClellan, and would make a better commander.

It is said that McClellan refuses to move until he has an army of 300,000 men and 600 guns. Has he not studied Napoleon's wars? Napoleon scarcely ever had half such a number in hand; and when at Wagram, where he had about 180,000 men, himself in the centre, Davoust and Massena on the flanks, nevertheless the handling of such a mass was too heavy even for his, Napoleon's, genius.

The country is—to use an Americanism—in a pretty fix, if this McClellan turns out to be a mistake. I hope for the best. 600 guns! But 100 guns in a line cover a mile. What will he do with 600? Lose them in forests, marshes, and bad roads; whence it is unhappily a fact that McClellan read only a little of military history, misunderstood what he read, and now attempts to realize hallucinations, as a boy attempts to imitate the exploits of an Orlando. It is dreadful to think of it. I prefer to trust his assertion that, once organized, he soon, very soon, will deal heavy and quick blows to the rebels.

I saw some manœuvrings, and am astonished that no artillery is distributed among the regiments of infantry. When the rank and file see the guns on their side, the soldiers consider them as a part of themselves and of the regiment; they fight better in the company of guns; they stand by them and defend them as they defend their colors. Such a distribution of guns would strengthen the body of the volunteers. But it seems that McClellan has no confidence in the volunteers. Were this true, it would denote a small, very small mind. Let us hope it is not so. One of his generals—a martinet of the first class—told me that McClellan waits for the organization of the regulars, to have them for the defence of the guns. If so, it is sheer nonsense. These narrow-minded West Point martinets will become the ruin of McClellan.

McClellan could now take the field. Oh, why has he established his headquarters in the city, among flunkeys, wiseacres, and spit-lickers? Were he among the troops, he would be already in Manassas. The people are uneasy and fretting about this inaction, and the people see what is right and necessary.

Gen. Banks, a true and devoted patriot, is sacrificed by the stupidity of what they call here the staff of the great army, but which collectively, with its chief, is only a mass of conceit and ignorance few, as General Williams, excepted. Banks is in the face of the enemy, and has no cavalry and no artillery; and here are immense reviews to amuse women and fools.

Mr. Mercier, the French Minister, visited a considerable part of the free States, and his opinions are now more clear and firm; above all, he is very friendly to our side. He is sagacious and good.

Missouri is in great confusion—three parts of it lost. Fremont is not to be accused of all the mischief, but, from effect to cause, the accusation ascends to General Scott.

Gen. Scott insisted to have Gen. Harney appointed to the command of Missouri, and hated Lyon. If, even after Harney's recall, Lyon had been appointed, Lyon would be alive and Missouri safe. But hatred, anxiety of rank, and stupidity, united their efforts, and prevailed. Oh American people! to depend upon such inveterate blunderers!

Were McClellan in the camp, he would have no flatterers, no antechambers filled with flunkeys; but the rebels would not so easily get news of his plans as they did in the affair on Munson's Hill.

The Orleans are here. I warned the government against admitting the Count de Paris, saying that it would be a deliberate breach of good comity towards Louis Napoleon, and towards the Bonapartes, who prove to be our friends; I told that no European government would commit itself in such a manner, not even if connected by ties of blood with the Orleans. At the start, Mr. Seward heeded a little my advice, but finally he could not resist the vanity to display untimely spread-eagleism, and the Orleans are in our service. Brave boys! It is a noble, generous, high-minded, if not an altogether wise, action.

If a mind is not nobly inspired and strong, then the exercise of power makes it crotchety and dissimulative in contact with men.

To my disgust, I witness this all around me.

The American people, its institutions, the Union—all have lost their virginity, their political innocence. A revolution in the institutions, in the mode of life, in notions begun—it is going on, will grow and mature, either for good or evil. Civil war, this most terrible but most maturing passion, has put an end to the boyhood and to the youth of the American people. Whatever may be the end, one thing is sure that the substance and the form will be modified; nay, perhaps, both wholly changed. A new generation of citizens will grow and come out from this smoke of the civil war.

The Potomac closed by the rebels! Mischief and shame! Natural fruits of the dilatory war policy—Scott's fault. Months ago the navy wished to prevent it, to shell out the rebels, to keep our troops in the principal positions. Scott opposed; and still he has almost paramount influence. McClellan complains against Scott, and Lincoln and Seward flatter McClellan, but look up to Scott as to a supernatural military wisdom. Oh, poor nation!

In Europe clouds gather over Mexico. Whatever it eventually may come to, I suggested to Mr. Seward to lay aside the Monroe doctrine, not to meddle for or against Mexico, but to earnestly protest against any eventual European interference in the internal condition of the political institutions of Mexico.

Continual secondary, international complications, naturally growing out from the maritime question; so with the Dutch cheesemongers, with Spain, with England - all easily to be settled; they generate fuss and trouble, but will make no fire.

Gen. Scott's partisans complain that McClellan is very disrespectful in his dealings with Gen. Scott. I wonder not.. McClellan is probably hampered by the narrow routine notions of Scott. McClellan feels that Scott prevents energetic and prompt action; that he, McClellan, in every step is obliged to fight Gen. Scott's inertia; and McClellan grows impatient, and shows it to Scott.

SOURCE: Adam Gurowski, Diary from March 4, 1861, to November 12, 1862, pp. 92-103

Diary of Horatio Nelson Taft, Friday, March 7, 1862

A beautiful clear day but rather cool out, in the office as usual. Nothing new in the city that I hear of tonight. I have been down to Charleys. He has been doing some writing for me, my work in the Land office. Troops are coming into the City and moveing about a good deal. We may expect lively times soon over the River. All seems to be quiet now.

SOURCE: Horatio Nelson Taft, The Diary of Horatio Nelson Taft, 1861-1865. Volume 1, January 1,1861-April 11, 1862, Library of Congress, Manuscript Division, Washington D. C.

Diary of Horatio Nelson Taft, Saturday, March 8, 1862

The weather is now fine & the roads are drying up. Troops are coming into the City and crossing over the River. Rumors afloat of fighting today near Mt Vernon. Nothing is published and little is known publicly of War operations. The prospect now is that there will be a desperate Battle near here soon. The Rebels will try to retrieve their recent losses, and will fight with desperation. M^cClellan is well prepared and has an immense army near here all ready and anxious for a fight. Went up to Franklin Square with wife & the boys after dinner. Wife & myself continued our walk to Lafayette Square pass [sic] Genl M^cClellans home. He was standing at the Window. I did not go down to the Av^e tonight, got a “Tribune” of the news boy & read Carl Shurze Speech at the Cooper Institute NY.

SOURCE: Horatio Nelson Taft, The Diary of Horatio Nelson Taft, 1861-1865. Volume 1, January 1,1861-April 11, 1862, Library of Congress, Manuscript Division, Washington D. C.

Diary of Private Theodore Reichardt, Sunday, March 23, 1862

Arrived at Washington by eleven o'clock A. M., and unloaded the battery at once. Marched from the depot to the camp of the New England cavalry. The guns were guarded near the depot. The horses, under charge of Captain Tompkins, and Lieutenant J. G. Hassard, were coming on the country road.

SOURCE: Theodore Reichardt, Diary of Battery A, First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery, p. 36

Diary of Henry Greville: Friday, April 26, 1861

Intelligence has reached London this morning from New York dated 14th, by which it appears that Fort Sumter had been attacked by the Secessionists, who, after a bombardment of forty hours' duration, had taken it without much loss on either side. Letters received in the City state that the excitement in New York and Washington was prodigious. John Russell declared in the House of Commons that Her Majesty's Government had no intention of offering their mediation.

SOURCE: Alice Countess of Stratford, Leaves from the Diary of Henry Greville: 1857-1861, p. 371

Diary of 1st Lieutenant Daniel L. Ambrose: May 24, 1865

On the 24th of May we cross the long bridge spanning the Potomac and enter Washington City and pass up Pennsylvania Avenue, and by the White House, with Sherman's army in the grand review. This was a proud day for Sherman and his army. Flowers and wreaths, plucked and formed by the hands of the nation's fair ones, fell thick and fast at the feet of the tramping army as it surged like an ocean wave in the great avenue. Passing by the stand where stood the nation's great men, General Sherman turns to his wife and says, "There are the Seventh Illinois and the sixteen-shooters that helped to save my army in the great battle on the Allatoona hills."

On that day there were men in the national capital who were loud in denouncing Sherman as a traitor, for his actions in his conference with General Joe Johnson [sic]. Generals Howard, Logan, Blair and Slocum are familiar with the circumstances that controlled Sherman in that conference. The seventy thousand who with him tramped the continent, have learned the history of those negotiations, and their expression is unanimous for Sherman, and to-day they are wild in denouncing all who oppose him. Catching the spirit of these stalwart men, Lieutenant Flint, of Company G, writes thus:

Back to your kennels ! 'tis no time
To snarl upon him now,
Ye cannot tear the blood-earned bays
From off his regal brow.

Along old Mississippi's stream,
We saw his banner fly;
We followed where from Georgia's peaks
It flapped against the sky.

And forward! vain her trackless swamps,
Her wilderness of pines,
He saw the sun rise from the sea
Flash on his serried lines!

Back to your kennels! 'tis too late
To sully Sherman's name;
To us it is the synonym
Of valor, worth and fame.

A hundred fights, a thousand miles
Of glory, blood and pain,
From our dear valley of the west,
To Carolina's plain,

Are his and ours; and peace or war,
Let his old pennon reel,
And ten times ten thousand men
Will thunder at his heel,"

After the grand review, we go into camp a few miles from the capital near the Soldier's Home. Treason and rebellion being prostrate, and the Union saved, the western troops are ordered to rendezvous at Louisville, Kentucky, preparatory to their muster out of the United States service.

SOURCE: abstracted from Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 309-11

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 23, 1861

As a description of the appearance of the country in which we were settled, I here introduce a letter written at this date to a friend:

CAMP ADVANCE, Sept. 23, 1861.

A short time since I undertook, from a single feature in the marred and distorted face of this country, to give you some idea of the effects of the war on Virginia, and of how dearly she is paying for her privilege of being shamefully servile to South Carolina. It may not be uninteresting for you, now, to know, to know something of its general appearance as it is, and as it was; and yet when I tell you that my attempt to describe one scene fell far short of the reality, you may imagine something of the difficulty of undertaking, in a single letter, to convey any adequate idea of the whole. When Gov. Pickens said last spring to the Carolinians: "You may plant your seeds in peace, for Virginia will have to bear the brunt of the war," he cast a shadow of the events which were coming on the head of this superannuated "mother of States and of statesmen."

Chain Bridge is about seven miles from the Capitol in Washington, and crosses the Potomac at the head of all navigation; even skiffs and canoes cannot pass for any distance above it, though a small steam tug runs up to the bridge, towing scows loaded, principally, with stone for the city. The river runs through a gorge in a mountainous region, and from here to Georgetown, a suburb of Washington, is unapproachable on the Virginia side. There are very few places where even a single footman can, with safety, get down the precipitous banks to the water. The river then is a perfect barrier to any advance by the enemy from this side, except at Georgetown, Chain Bridge, and Long Bridge, at the lower end of Washington City. On the Columbia side is a narrow plateau of land, along which runs the Ohio and Chesapeake Canal, and a public road. These occupy the entire plateau till you come near Georgetown, where the country opens out, making room for fine rolling farms of exceeding fertility, with here and there a stately mansion overlooking road, city, canal and river, making some of the most beautiful residences I ever beheld. On Meridian Hill, a little north of the road from Washington to Georgetown, stands the old Porter Mansion, from which one of the most aristocratic families in America were wont to overlook the social, political, and physical movements of our National Capital; from which, too, they habitually dispensed those hospitalities which made it the resort, not only of the citizens of Columbia and Maryland, but also of the F. F. V.'s, for whom it had especial attractions. All around it speaks in unmistakable language of the social and pecuniary condition of those who occupied the grounds. Even the evidences of death there speak of the wealth of the family. The tombstone which marks the place of repose of one of its members, and on which is summed up the short historical record of her who sleeps within, tells of former affluence and comfort.

A little further on we pass the Kalorama House—the name of the owner or the former occupant I have not learned, but it is one of the most magnificent places that imagination can picture. You enter the large gate, guarded by a beautiful white cottage for the janitor, and by a circuitous route through a dense grove of deciduous and evergreen forest, you rise, rise, rise, by easy and gradual ascent, the great swell of ground on which stands the beautiful mansion, shut out from the view of the visitor till he is almost on the threshold, but overlooking even its whole growth of forest, and the whole country for miles around.

You next pass Georgetown. The plateau begins to narrow, and the dimensions of the houses grow correspondingly less, but they are distributed at shorter intervals till you reach the bridge.

This is what it was. What is it? In passing the Porter mansion, the stately building, with its large piazza shaded by the badly damaged evergreens, and covered more closely by the intermingling branches of every variety of climbing rose, of the clamatis and the honeysuckle, invite you to enter, but the seedy hat and thread-bare coat appearance of the old mansion, give notice that the day of its prosperity is passing away. You would cool yourself in the shade of its clumps of evergreens, but at every tree stands tied a war horse, ready caparisoned for the "long roll" to call him into action at any moment, and, lest you be trampled, you withdraw, and seek shelter in the arbor or summer house. Here, too, "grim-visaged war presents his wrinkled front," and under those beautiful vines where fashion once held her levees, the commissary and the soldiers now parley over the distribution of pork and beef and beans. In the sadness, inspired by scenes like these, you naturally withdraw, to a small enclosure of white palings, over the top of which is seen rising a square marble column. As you approach, large letters tell you that ELIZABETH PORTER lies there, and the same engraving also tells you that she is deaf to the surrounding turmoil, and has ceased to know of the passions which caused it. That marble rises from a broad pedestal, on one side of which are two soldiers with a pack of cards, and the little pile of money which they received a few days ago, is rapidly changing hands. On the opposite side are two others busily engaged in writing, perhaps of the glories and laurels they are to win in this war; but I venture the opinion, never once to express an idea of the misery and despair of the widows and orphans at whose expense their glories are to be won! On the third side of the pedestal stand a tin canteen, two tin cups, and a black bottle! The fourth awaits a tenant. Again, for quiet, you approach the mansion. As you step on the threshold, half lost, no doubt, in musing over what you have witnessed, instead of the hospitable hand extended with a cordial "Walk in, sir," you are startled by the presented bayonet, and the stern command to "halt; who are you and your busines?" A good account of yourself will admit you to spacious rooms with black and broken walls, soiled floors, window sills, sash and moulding, all disfigured or destroyed by the busy knife of the universal Yankee. This room is occupied by the staff of some regiment or brigade. The next is a store room for corn, oats, hay, and various kinds of forage. The house has been left unoccupied by its owners, and is now taken possession of by any regiment or detachment which happens to be stationed near.

Tired of this desolation in the midst of a crowd, you pass through long rows of white tents, across the little valley which separates you from the hill of Kalorama. Your stop here will be short, for after having climbed the long ascent and reached the house, you find the windows all raised, and anxious lookers-out at every opening. From the first is presented to your view a face of singular appearance, thickly studded with large, roundish, ash-colored postules, slightly sunken in the center. The next presents one of different aspect—a bloody redness, covered here and there with scaly excrescences, ready to be rubbed off, and show the same blood redness underneath. In the next, you find another change—the redness paling, the scales dropping, and revealing deep, dotted pits, and you at once discover that the beautiful house of Kalorama is converted into a pest house for soldiers. Shrinking away from this, you pass through a corner of Georgetown, and then enter the narrow valley between the high bluffs and the Potomac. Onward you travel towards the bridge, never out of the sight of houses, the fences unbroken, the crops but little molested, the country in the peace and quietness of death almost; for the houses, farms, crops, are all deserted, in consequence of the war which is raging on the opposite side of that unapproachable river; and you travel from our National Capital through seven miles of fine country, inviting, by its location and surroundings, civilization and refinement in the highest tone, without passing a house—save in Georgetown—in which the traveler would find it safe to pass a night—indeed I can recall but one which is inhabited by whites. On all these farms scarcely a living thing is to be seen, except the few miserably-ragged and woebegone—looking negroes, or some more miserable—looking white dispensers of bad whisky, who seem to have taken possession of them because they had been abandoned by their proper occupants. The lowing of herds is no longer heard here; the bleating of flocks has ceased, and even Chanticleer has yielded his right of morning call to the bugle's reveille. "If such things are done in the green tree, what may we expect in the dry?" Cross the bridge into Virginia, and you will see.

Gloomy as is the prospect just passed, it saddens immeasurably from the moment you cross the Virginia line. In addition to the abandonment and desolation of the other side, destruction here stares you in the face. Save in the soldier and his appendants, no sign of life in animal larger than the cricket or katy-did, greets you as you pass. Herds, flocks, swine, and even fowls, both wild and domestic, have abandoned this country, in which scenes of civil life are no longer known. Houses are torn down, fences no longer impede the progress of the cavalier, and where, two months ago, were flourishing growths of grain and grass, the surface is now bare and trodden as the highway. Even the fine growths of timber do not escape, but are literally mowed down before the march of the armies, lest they impede the messengers of death from man to man. And this is in the nineteenth century of Christianity—and these the results of the unchristian passions of fathers, sons and brothers, striving against the lives and happiness of each other. Alas! Poor Virginia! Your revenues are cut off, your industry paralysed, your soil desecrated, your families in exile, your prestige gone forever.

But as so many others are writing of exciting scenes, I fear you will grow impatient for my description of the last battles for my account of anthropophagi—of men who have their heads beneath their shoulders—but I have no tact for describing unfought battles, or for proclaiming imperishable glories won to-day, never to be heard of after to-morrow. When we have a fight worth describing, I shall tell you of it. In the meantime I am "taking notes," and "faith I'll print 'em." If the rebels will not give us a fight to make a letter of, I will, at my first leisure, for fear my men forget their Hardee and Scott, have a graphic dress parade, in which our different regiments shall contribute at least a battalion, to pass review before you. Then let him who loses laugh, for he who wins is sure to. Till then good night.

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. 31-7

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

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 11, 1861

Had some skirmishing to-day. Took some prisoners, who state that within twelve miles of us is the center of operations of about one hundred thousand rebels, who are preparing to attack us and march on Washington. This, if true, falsifies all the predictions of this journal, that there is no considerable force of the enemy in front of us, and that we shall have no general engagement here. Nevertheless, my opinion is unchanged.

This morning quite a body of troops, infantry, cavalry and artillery, passed us, on the road going in the direction of where the enemy are supposed to be. By twelve o'clock artillery firing was distinctly heard some four miles in the direction which they took. In the afternoon we were hurriedly called to march to the support of our retreating men.

We met them about two miles this side of where the fight was. They claim to have gained a great victory, but they brought in no prisoners; no guns captured. Why was that. These reports of victories are very unreliable affairs. All kinds of stories are going through the camp, but I shall record none of them till they have assumed a shape worthy to be remembered.

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. 27-8

Diary of Corporal John W. Dennett, Friday, September 12, 1862

Left camp at Upton Hill at eight A.M., and marched through Washington. Went into camp at five P.M. Distance, fifteen miles.

SOURCE: John Lord Parker, Henry Wilson's Regiment: History of the Twenty-second Massachusetts Infantry, the Second Company Sharpshooters and the Third Light Battery, in the War of the Rebellion, p. 267

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, August 16, 1861

I am still at Barnum's, and having transferred my sick to the charge of Mr. S., I have a little more time to think, and to journalize my thoughts. I have looked around a little to-day, and my observations have almost made me wish I had no country. When every right which freemen hold dear is at stake, to see men calculating the pecuniary cost of preserving them, sickens the heart, and shakes our confidence in human nature. When the poorer classes are laboring day and night, and exposing their lives in the cause of that government on which the rich lean for protection in the possession of their wealth, to see these loud mouthed patriotic capitalists cheating them in the very clothes they wear to battle, the soul revolts at the idea of human nature civilized into a great mass of money-makers. May we not expect, ere long, that these same patriots will be found opposing the war because it will require a tax on the riches which they shall have amassed from it, to defray its expenses? We shall see.

There must be great imbecility too, somewhere, in the management of our affairs. We are 20,000,000 of people fighting against 6,000,000.* We boast that we are united as one man, whilst our enemies are divided. Congress has voted men and money ad libitum. We boast of our hundreds of thousands of soldiers in the field, whilst the rebel army is far inferior. Yet Sumter yielded to the superiority of numbers. Pickens dares not venture out of her gates, on account of the hosts surrounding her. At Big Bethel we fought against great odds in numbers. At Martinsburg we were as one to three. At Bull Run the united forces of Beauregard and Johnston bore down on and almost annihilated our little force; whilst even in the west we see the brave Lyon sacrificed, and Sigel retreating before superior numbers. And yet we seem insecure even in the defences of our great cities. We are in daily apprehension of an attack on Washington. Baltimore is without an army. St. Louis is in danger, and even Cairo defended by a handful of men compared to the number threatening to attack her. Surely the god of battles cannot have made himself familiar to our leaders.

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* I assume that the slave population are not of those against whom we fight.

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. 15-6

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, August 27, 1861

On my arrival here, I found our tents pitched on ploughed ground, in a swale. The bottoms of the tents were very damp, and the mud in the streets over shoe-top. I at once set to work to correct this. I had the streets all ditched on either side, the dirt thrown into the middle, and already, instead of the mud and water streets and tents, we have them so firm, smooth and dry that they are swept every day. I hope by this, and by constant care in ventilating the tents, to arrest the rapidly increasing sickness.

Having finished the above note for the day, I have, on the point of retiring, just received an order from Gen. King to be ready to move at a minute's notice. The enemy is probably again threatening Washington. I must prepare.

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. 19

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, August 30, 1861

It is now between two and three months since our regiment went into camp. We have had nearly three hundred cases of measles, with about as many of diarrhoea, dysentery and fever. Not one quarter of the regiment but has been sick in some way, and yet last night every man who left home with the regiment slept in camp-not one death by sickness or accident, none left behind, not one lost by desertion! May we not challenge the armies of the world for a parallel? We are sleeping on our arms every night, in anticipation of an attack on Washington, and it seems to be the general belief that we shall be attacked here. I am no military man, and my opinion here is of no account to the world, but to me, for whose especial benefit it is written, it is worth as much as would be the opinion of a Napoleon. That opinion is, that we shall have no fight here—that the enemy is out-generaling us by feints to induce us to concentrate our forces here, whilst he makes a strike and overpowers us elsewhere.

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. 19-20

John Tyler to Julia Gardiner Tyler, April 18, 1861

RICHMOND, April 17,¹ 1861.

Well, my dearest one, Virginia has severed her connection with the Northern hive of abolitionists, and takes her stand as a sovereign and independent State. By a large vote she decided on yesterday, at about three o'clock, to resume the powers she had granted to the Federal government, and to stand before the world clothed in the full vestments of sovereignty. The die is thus cast, and her future is in the hands of the god of battle. The contest into which we enter is one full of peril, but there is a spirit abroad in Virginia which cannot be crushed until the life of the last man is trampled out. The numbers opposed to us are immense; but twelve thousand Grecians conquered the whole power of Xerxes at Marathon, and our fathers, a mere handful, overcame the enormous power of Great Britain.

The North seems to be thoroughly united against us. The Herald and the Express both give way and rally the hosts against us. Things have gone to that point in Philadelphia that no one is safe in the expression of a Southern sentiment. Poor Robert is threatened with mob violence. I wish most sincerely he was away from there. I attempted to telegraph him to-day, but no dispatch is permitted northward, so that no one knows there, except by secret agent, what has transpired here. At Washington a system of martial law must have been established. The report is that persons are not permitted to pass through the city to the South. I learn that Mrs. Orrick and her children, on her way here to join her husband, who is on the convention, has been arrested and detained. There is another report that General Scott resigned yesterday and was put under arrest. I hope it may be so, but I do not believe it. I have some fear that he will not resign. Reports are too conflicting about it.

Two expeditions are on foot,—the one directed against the Navy Yard at Gosport, the other Harper's Ferry. Several ships are up the river at the Navy Yard, and immense supplies of guns and powder; but there is no competent leader, and they have delayed it so long that the government has now a very strong force there. The hope is that Pickens will send two thousand men to aid in capturing it. From Harper's Ferry nothing is heard. The city is full of all sorts of rumors. To-morrow night is now fixed for the great procession; flags are raised all about town.

If possible I shall visit home on Saturday. Tell Gill that I shall send or bring down the sturgeon twine and six bushels of potatoes, which should be planted as soon as they reach home. I wish much to see you after so long an absence, and the dear children, since they have had the measles. Do, dearest, live as frugally as possible in the household,—trying times are before us.

Kisses to all.

Your devoted,

J. TYLER.

Julia is quite well.

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¹ As the ordinance was passed on the 17th, this date ought to be 18th.

SOURCE: Lyon Gardiner Tyler, The Letters and Times of the Tylers, Volume 2, p. 641-2

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, August 8, 1861

"I am monarch of all I survey." Last night, intelligence being received that an attack was expected on Washington; we were ordered to move there instanter, and at once the regiment was in motion. It got off in the course of the night, leaving me here in charge of about forty men who were too sick to be moved. I am left without provisions or money, except a few pounds of flour with which to feed and care for the sick, and the ten well ones left with me, to aid me and to look up deserters who have been left here. How am I to do it? I find a strong secession element here, and at times it is very bold. The hurrahs for Jeff. Davis are frequent, and all day the children are flaunting secession flags in our faces, and flying secession kites in our camp ground

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. 10

Diary of Private Theodore Reichardt, Saturday, June 22, 1861

Arrival at the National Capital. By daylight the cupola of the Capitol greeted our eyes, a reviving sight after three sleepless nights. Col. Ambrose E. Burnside and Capt. Chas. H. Tompkins had a breakfast prepared for us, consisting of roast beef, soft bread and coffee. After unloading battery, we marched towards Camp Sprague, and established our quarters on the left of those of the First R. I. infantry regiment and battery. Our camp was named "Camp Clark," in honor of the celebrated Bishop Clark, of Rhode Island, the model of a Christian minister and true patriot.

SOURCE: Theodore Reichardt, Diary of Battery A, First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery, p. 7-8

Diary of Private Theodore Reichardt, Monday, June 24, 1861

Grand review of the Rhode Island troops by President Lincoln and Gen. Scott. Marched in front of the White House and through the principal streets of Washington.

From this time up to the 4th of July, nothing of importance occurred; everything went on quiet and pleasant; battery drills and manual of the piece were the usual occupation. Sometimes the long roll would be beat during the night, or guards would fire at some imaginary object of suspicion. On such an occasion a cow was shot.

SOURCE: Theodore Reichardt, Diary of Battery A, First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery, p. 8

Lieutenant-General William T. Sherman to Senator John Sherman, February 14, 1868

HEADQUARTERS MILITARY DIVISION OF THE MISSOURI,        

ST. LOUIS, Feb. 14, 1868.

Dear Brother:

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

I am again in the midst of trouble, occasioned by a telegram from Grant saying that the order is out for me to come to the command of the military division of the Atlantic Headquarters at Washington. The President repeatedly asked me to accept of some such position, but I thought I had fought it off successfully, though he again and again reverted to it.

Now, it seems, he has ordered it, and it is full of trouble for me. I wrote him one or two letters in Washington which I thought positive enough, but have now written another, and if it fails in its object I might as well cast about for new employment. The result would be certain conflict resulting in Grant's violent deposition, mine, or the President's.

There is not room on board of one ship for more than one captain.

If Grant intends to run for President I should be willing to come on, because my duties would then be so clearly defined that I think I could steer clear of the breakers, but now it would be impossible. The President would make use of me to beget violence, a condition of things that ought not to exist now.

He has no right to use us for such purposes, though he is Commander-in-Chief. I did suppose his passage with Grant would end there, but now it seems he will fight him as he has been doing Congress. I don't object if he does so himself and don't rope me in. . . .

If the President forces me into a false position out of seeming favor, I must defend myself. It is mortifying, but none the less inevitable.

Affectionately,

W. T. SHERMAN.

SOURCE: Rachel Sherman Thorndike, Editor, The Sherman Letters: Correspondence Between General and Senator Sherman from 1837 to 1891, p. 305