CHAPTER XIX. Personal unpopularity
Personal unpopularity—American naval officers—A gun levelled at me in fun—Increase of odium against me—Success of the Hatteras expedition—General Scott and M‘Clellan—M‘Clellan on his camp-bed—General Scott’s pass refused—Prospect of an attack on Washington—Skirmishing—Anonymous letters—General Halleck—General M‘Clellan and the Sabbath—Rumoured death of Jefferson Davis—Spread of my unpopularity—An offer for my horse—Dinner at the Legation—Discussion on Slavery.
August 31st.—A month during which I have been exposed to more calumny, falsehood, not to speak of danger, than I ever passed through, has been brought to a close. I have all the pains and penalties attached to the digito monstrari et dicier hic est, in the most hostile sense. On going into Willard’s the other day, I said to the clerk behind the bar, “Why I heard, Mr. So-and-so, you were gone?” “Well, sir, I’m not. If I was, you would have lost the last man who is ready to say a word for you in this house, I can tell you.” Scowling faces on every side—women turning up their pretty little noses—people turning round in the streets, or stopping to stare in front of me—the proprietors of the shops where I am known pointing me out to others; the words uttered, in various tones, “So, that’s Bull-Run Russell!”—for, oddly enough, the Americans seem to think that a disgrace to their arms becomes diminished by fixing the name of the scene as a sobriquet on one who described it—these, with caricatures, endless falsehoods, rumours of duels, and the like, form some of the little désagrémens of one who was so unfortunate as to assist at the retreat, the first he had ever seen, of an army which it would in all respects have suited him much better to have seen victorious.
I dined with Lieutenant Wise, and met Captain Dahlgren, Captain Davis, U.S.N., Captain Foote, U.S.N., and Colonel Fletcher Webster[6], son of the great American statesman, now commanding a regiment of volunteers. The latter has a fine head and face; a full, deep eye; is quaint and dry in his conversation, and a poet, I should think, in heart and soul, if outward and visible signs may be relied on. The naval captains were excellent specimens of the accomplished and able men who belong to the United States Navy. Foote, who is designated to the command of the flotilla which is to clear the Mississippi downwards, will, I am certain, do good service—a calm, energetic, skilful officer. Dahlgren, who, like all men with a system, very properly watches everything which bears upon it, took occasion to call for Captain Foote’s testimony to the fact, that he battered down a six-foot granite wall in China with Dahlgren shells. It will run hard against the Confederates when they get such men at work on the rivers and coasts, for they seem to understand their business thoroughly, and all they are not quite sure of is the readiness of the land forces to co-operate with their expeditionary movements. Incidentally I learned from the conversation—and it is a curious illustration of the power of the President—that it was he who ordered the attack on Charleston harbour, or, to speak with more accuracy, the movement of the armed squadron to relieve Sumter by force, if necessary; and that he came to the conclusion it was feasible principally from reading the account of the attack on Kinburn by the allied fleets. There was certainly an immense disproportion between the relative means of attack and defence in the two cases; but, at all events, the action of the Confederates prevented the attempt.
September 1st.—Took a ride early this morning over the Long Bridge. As I was passing out of the earthwork called a fort on the hill, a dirty German soldier called out from the parapet, “Pull-Run Russell! you shall never write Pulls’ Runs again,” and at the same time cocked his piece, and levelled it at me. I immediately rode round into the fort, the fellow still presenting his firelock, and asked him what he meant, at the same time calling for the sergeant of the guard, who came at once, and, at my request, arrested the man, who recovered arms, and said, “It was a choake—I vant to freeken Pull-Run Russell.” However, as his rifle was capped and loaded, and on full cock, with his finger on the trigger, I did not quite see the fun of it, and I accordingly had the man marched to the tent of the officer, who promised to investigate the case, and make a formal report of it to the brigadier, on my return to lay the circumstances before him. On reflection I resolved that it was best to let the matter drop; the joke might spread, and it was quite unpleasant enough as it was to bear the insolent looks and scowling faces of the guards at the posts, to whom I was obliged to exhibit my pass whenever I went out to ride.
On my return I heard of the complete success of the Hatteras expedition, which shelled out and destroyed some sand batteries guarding the entrance to the great inland sea and navigation called Pamlico Sound, in North Carolina, furnishing access to coasters for many miles into the Confederate States, and most useful to them in forwarding supplies and keeping up communications throughout. The force was commanded by General Butler, who has come to Washington with the news, and has already made his speech to the mob outside Willard’s. I called down to see him, but he had gone over to call on the President. The people were jubilant, and one might have supposed Hatteras was the key to Richmond or Charleston, from the way they spoke of this unparalleled exploit.
There is a little French gentleman here against whom the fates bear heavily. I have given him employment as an amanuensis and secretary for some time back, and he tells me many things concerning the talk in the city which I do not hear myself, from which it would seem that there is an increase of ill feeling towards me every day, and that I am a convenient channel for concentrating all the abuse and hatred so long cherished against England. I was a little tickled by an account he gave me of a distinguished lady, who sent for him to give French lessons, in order that she might become equal to her high position in mastering the difficulties of the courtly tongue. I may mention the fact, as it was radiated by the press through all the land, that Mrs. M. N., having once on a time “been proficient in the language, has forgotten it in the lapse of years, but has resolved to renew her studies, that she may better discharge the duties of her elevated station.” The master went to the house and stated his terms to a lady whom he saw there; but as she marchandéd a good deal over small matters of cents, he never supposed he was dealing with the great lady, and therefore made a small reduction in his terms, which encouraged the enemy to renew the assault till he stood firmly on three shillings a lesson, at which point the lady left him, with the intimation that she would consider the matter and let him know. And now, the licentiate tells me, it has become known he is my private secretary, he is not considered eligible to do avoir and être for the satisfaction of the good lady, who really is far better than her friends describe her to be.
September 2nd.—It would seem as if the North were perfectly destitute of common sense. Here they are as rampant because they have succeeded with an overwhelming fleet in shelling out the defenders of some poor unfinished earthworks, on a spit of sand on the coast of North Carolina, as if they had already crushed the Southern rebellion. They affect to consider this achievement a counterpoise to Bull Bun.
Surely the press cannot represent the feelings of the staid and thinking masses of the Northern States! The success is unquestionably useful to the Federalists, but it no more adds to their chances of crushing the Confederacy, than shooting off the end of an elephant’s tail contributes to the hunter’s capture of the animal.
An officious little person, who was buzzing about here as correspondent of a London newspaper, made himself agreeable by coming with a caricature of my humble self at the battle of Bull Bun, in a laborious and most unsuccessful imitation of Punch, in which I am represented with rather a flattering face and figure, seated before a huge telescope, surrounded by bottles of London stout, and looking at the fight. This is supposed to be very humorous and amusing, and my good-natured friend was rather astonished when I cut it out and inserted it carefully in a scrap-book, opposite a sketch from fancy of the New York Fire Zouaves charging a battery and routing a regiment of cavalry, which appeared last week in a much more imaginative and amusing periodical, which aspires to describe with pen and pencil the actual current events of the war.
Going out for my usual ride to-day, I saw General Scott, between two aides-de-camp, slowly pacing homewards from the War Office. He is still Commander-in-Chief of the army, and affects to direct movements and to control the disposition of the troops, but a power greater than his increases steadily at General M‘Clellan’s head-quarters. For my own part I confess that General M‘Clellan does not appear to me a man of action, or, at least, a man who intends to act as speedily as the crisis demands. He should be out with his army across the Potomac, living among his generals, studying the composition of his army, investigating its defects, and, above all, showing himself to the men as soon afterwards as possible, if he cannot be with them at the time, in the small affairs which constantly occur along the front, and never permitting them to receive a blow without taking care that they give at least two in return. General Scott, jam fracta membra labore, would do all the work of departments and superintendence admirably well; but, as Montesquieu taught long ago, faction and intrigue are the cancers which peculiarly eat into the body politic of republics, and M‘Clellan fears, no doubt, that his absence from the capital, even though he went but across the river, would animate his enemies to undermine and supplant him.
I have heard several people say lately, “I wish old Scott would go away,” by which they mean that they would be happy to strike him down when his back was turned, but feared his personal influence with the President and his Cabinet. Two months ago and his was the most honoured name in the States: one was sickened by the constant repetition of elaborate plans, in which the General was represented playing the part of an Indian juggler, and holding an enormous boa constrictor of a Federal army in his hands, which he was preparing to let go as soon as he had coiled it completely round the frightened Secessionist rabbit; “now none so poor to do him reverence.” Hard is the fate of those who serve republics. The officers who met the old man in the street to-day passed him by without a salute or mark of recognition, although he wore his uniform coat, with yellow lapels and yellow sash; and one of a group which came out of a restaurant close to the General’s house, exclaimed, almost in his hearing, “Old fuss-and-feathers don’t look first-rate to-day.”
In the evening I went with a Scotch gentleman, who was formerly acquainted with General M‘Clellan when he was superintendent of the Central Illinois Railway, to his head-quarters, which are in the house of Captain Wilkes at the corner of President Square, near Mr. Seward’s, and not far from the spot where General Sickles shot down the unhappy man who had temporarily disturbed the peace of his domestic relations. The parlours were full of officers smoking, reading the papers, and writing, and after a short conversation with General Marcy, Chief of the Staff, Van Vliet, aide-de-camp of the Commander-in-Chief, led the way up-stairs to the top of the house, where we found General M‘Clellan, just returned from a long ride, and seated in his shirt sleeves on the side of his camp-bed. He looked better than I have yet seen him, for his dress showed to advantage the powerful, compact formation of his figure, massive throat, well-set head, and muscular energy of his frame. Nothing could be more agreeable or easy than his manner. In his clear, dark-blue eye was no trace of uneasiness or hidden purpose; but his mouth, covered by a short, thick moustache, rarely joins in the smile that overspreads his face when he is animated by telling or hearing some matter of interest. Telegraph wires ran all about the house, and as we sat round the General’s table, despatches were repeatedly brought in from the Generals in the front. Sometimes M‘Clellan laid down his cigar and went off to study a large map of the position, which was fixed to the wall close to the head of his bed; but more frequently the contents of the despatches caused him to smile or to utter some exclamation, which gave one an idea that he did not attach much importance to the news, and had not great faith in the reports received from his subordinate officers, who are always under the impression that the enemy are coming on in force.
It is plain the General has got no high opinion of volunteer officers and soldiers. In addition to unsteadiness in action, which arises from want of confidence in the officers as much as from any other cause, the men labour under the great defect of exceeding rashness, a contempt for the most ordinary precautions and a liability to unaccountable alarms and credulousness of false report; but, admitting all these circumstances, M‘Clellan has a soldier’s faith in gros bataillons and sees no doubt of ultimate success in a military point of view, provided the politicians keep quiet, and, charming men as they are, cease to meddle with things they don’t understand. Although some very good officers have deserted the United States army and are now with the Confederates, a very considerable majority of West Point officers have adhered to the Federals. I am satisfied, by an actual inspection of the lists, that the Northerners retain the same preponderance in officers who have received a military education, as they possess in wealth and other means, and resources for carrying on the war.
The General consumes tobacco largely, and not only smokes cigars, but indulges in the more naked beauties of a quid. From tobacco we wandered to the Crimea, and thence went half round the world, till we halted before the Virginian watch-fires, which these good volunteers will insist on lighting under the very noses of the enemy’s pickets; nor was it till late we retired, leaving the General to his well-earned repose.
General M‘Clellan took the situation of affairs in a very easy and philosophical spirit. According to his own map and showing, the enemy not only overlapped his lines from the batteries by which they blockaded the Potomac on the right, to their extreme left on the river above Washington, but have established themselves in a kind of salient angle on his front, at a place called Munson’s Hill, where their flag waved from entrenchments within sight of the Capitol. However, from an observation he made, I imagined that the General would make an effort to recover his lost ground; at any rate, beat up the enemy’s quarters, in order to see what they were doing; and he promised to send an orderly round and let me know; so, before I retired, I gave orders to my groom to have “Walker” in readiness.
September 3rd.—Notwithstanding the extreme heat, I went out early this morning to the Chain Bridge, from which the reconnaissance hinted at last night would necessarily start. This bridge is about four and a half or five miles above Washington, and crosses the river at a picturesque spot almost deserving the name of a gorge, with high banks on both sides. It is a light aërial structure, and spans the river by broad arches, from which the view reminds one of Highland or Tyrolean scenery. The road from the city passes through a squalid settlement of European squatters, who in habitation, dress, appearance, and possibly civilisation, are quite as bad as any negroes on any Southern plantation I have visited. The camps of a division lie just beyond, and a gawky sentry from New England, with whom I had some conversation, amused me by saying that the Colonel “was a darned deal more affeerd of the Irish squatters taking off his poultry at night than he was of the Secessioners; anyways, he puts out more sentries to guard them than he has to look after the others.”
From the Chain Bridge I went some distance towards Falls Church, until I was stopped by a picket, the officer of which refused to recognise General Scott’s pass. “I guess the General’s a dead man, sir.” “Is he not Commander-in-Chief of the United States army?” “Well, I believe that’s a fact, sir; but you had better argue that point with M‘Clellan. He is our boy, and I do believe he’d like to let the London Times know how we Green Mountain boys can fight, if they don’t know already. But all passes are stopped anyhow, and I had to turn back a Congress-man this very morning, and lucky for him it was, because the Sechessers are just half a mile in front of us.” On my way back by the upper road I passed a farmer’s house, which was occupied by some Federal officers, and there, seated in the verandah, with his legs cocked over the railings, was Mr. Lincoln, in a felt hat, and a loose grey shooting coat and long vest, “letting off,” as the papers say, one of his jokes, to judge by his attitude and the laughter of the officers around him, utterly indifferent to the Confederate flag floating from Munson’s Hill.
Just before midnight a considerable movement of troops took place through the streets, and I was about starting off to ascertain the cause, when I received information that General M‘Clellan was only sending off two brigades and four batteries to the Chain Bridge to strengthen his right, which was menaced by the enemy. I retired to bed, in order to be ready for any battle which might take place to-morrow, but was roused up by voices beneath my window, and going out on the verandah, could not help chuckling at the appearance of three foreign ministers and a banker, in the street below, who had come round to inquire, in some perturbation, the cause of the nocturnal movement of men and guns, and seemed little inclined to credit my assurances that nothing more serious than a reconnaissance was contemplated. The ministers were in high spirits at the prospect of an attack on Washington. Such agreeable people are the governing party of the United States at present, that there is only one representative of a foreign power here who would not like to see them flying before Southern bayonets. The banker, perhaps, would have liked a little time to set his affairs in order. “When will the sacking begin?” cried the ministers. “We must hoist our flags.” “The Confederates respect private property, I suppose?” As to flags, be it remarked that Lord Lyons has none to display, having lent his to Mr. Seward, who required it for some festive demonstration.
September 4th.—I rode over to the Chain Bridge again with Captain Haworth this morning at seven o’clock, on the chance of there being a big fight, as the Americans say; but there was only some slight skirmishing going on; dropping shots now and then. Walker, excited by the reminiscences of Bull Run noises, performed most remarkable feats, one of the most frequent of which was turning right round when at full trot or canter and then kicking violently. He also galloped in a most lively way down a road which in winter is the bed of a torrent, and jumped along among the boulders and stones in an agile, cat-like manner, to the great delectation of my companion.
The morning was intensely hot, so I was by no means indisposed to get back to cover again. Nothing would persuade people there was not serious fighting somewhere or other. I went down to the Long Bridge, and was stopped by the sentry, so I produced General Scott’s pass, which I kept always as a dernier ressort, but the officer on duty here also refused it, as passes were suspended. I returned and referred the matter to Colonel Cullum, who consulted General Scott, and informed me that the pass must be considered as perfectly valid, not having been revoked by the General, who, as Lieutenant-General commanding the United States army, was senior to every other officer, and could only have his pass revoked by the President himself. Now it was quite plain that it would do me no good to have an altercation with the sentries at every post in order to have the satisfaction of reporting the matter to General Scott. I, therefore, procured a letter from Colonel Cullum stating, in writing, what he said in words, and with that and the pass went to General M‘Clellan’s head-quarters, where I was told by his aides the General was engaged in a kind of council of war. I sent up my papers, and Major Hudson, of his staff, came down after a short time and said, that “General M‘Clellan thought it would be much better if General Scott had given me a new special pass, but as General Scott had thought fit to take the present course on his own responsibility, General M‘Clellan could not interfere in the matter,” whence it may be inferred there is no very pleasant feeling between head-quarters of the army of the Potomac and head-quarters of the army of the United States.
I went on to the Navy yard, where a look-out man, who can command the whole of the country to Munson’s Hill, is stationed, and I heard from Captain Dahlgren that there was no fighting whatever. There were columns of smoke visible from Capitol Hill, which the excited spectators declared were caused by artillery and musketry, but my glass resolved them into emanations from a vast extent of hanging wood and brush which the Federals were burning in order to clear their front. However, people were so positive as to hearing cannonades and volleys of musketry that we went out to the reservoir hill at Georgetown, and gazing over the debatable land of Virginia—which, by the way, is very beautiful these summer sunsets—became thoroughly satisfied of the delusion. Met Van Vliet as I was returning, who had just seen the reports at head-quarters, and averred there was no fighting whatever. My landlord had a very different story. His friend, an hospital steward, “had seen ninety wounded men carried into one ward from over the river, and believed the Federals had lost 1000 killed and wounded and twenty-five guns.”
Sept. 5th.—Raining all day. M‘Clellan abandoned his intention of inspecting the lines, and I remained in, writing. The anonymous letters still continue. Received one from an unmistakable Thug to-day, with the death’s-head, cross-bones, and coffin, in the most orthodox style of national-school drawing.
The event of the day was the appearance of the President in the Avenue in a suit of black, and a parcel in his hand, walking umbrella-less in the rain. Mrs. Lincoln has returned, and the worthy “Executive” will no longer be obliged to go “browsing round,” as he says, among his friends at dinner-time. He is working away at money matters with energy, but has been much disturbed in his course of studies by General Fremont’s sudden outburst in the West, which proclaims emancipation, and draws out the arrow which the President intended to discharge from his own bow.
Sept. 6th.—At 3.30 p.m. General M‘Clellan sent over an orderly to say he was going across the river, and would be glad of my company; but I was just finishing my letters for England, and had to excuse myself for the moment; and when I was ready, the General and staff had gone ventre à terre into Virginia. After post, paid my respects to General Scott, who is about to retire from the command on his full-pay of about £3500 per annum, which is awarded to him on account of his long services.
A new Major-General—Halleck—has been picked up in California, and is highly praised by General Scott and by Colonel Cullum, with whom I had a long talk about the generals on both sides. Halleck is a West Point officer, and has published some works on military science which are highly esteemed in the States. Before California became a State, he was secretary to the governor or officer commanding the territory, and eventually left the service and became a lawyer in the district, where he has amassed a large fortune. He is a man of great ability, very calm, practical, earnest, and cold, devoted to the Union—a soldier, and something more. Lee is considered the ablest man on the Federal side, but he is slow and timid. “Joe” Johnson is their best strategist. Beauregard is nobody and nothing—so think they at head-quarters. All of them together are not equal to Halleck, who is to be employed in the West.
I dined at the Legation, where were the Russian Minister, the Secretary of the French Legation, the representative of New Granada, and others. As I was anxious to explain to General M‘Clellan the reason of my inability to go out with him, I called at his quarters about eleven o’clock, and found he had just returned from his ride. He received me in his shirt, in his bed-room at the top of the house, introduced me to General Burnside—a soldierly, intelligent-looking man, with a very lofty forehead, and uncommonly bright dark eyes; and we had some conversation about matters of ordinary interest for some time, till General M‘Clellan called me into an antechamber, where an officer was writing a despatch, which he handed to the General. “I wish to ask your opinion as to the wording of this order. It is a matter of importance. I see that the men of this army, Mr. Russell, disregard the Sabbath, and neglect the worship of God; and I am resolved to put an end to such neglect, as far as I can. I have, therefore, directed the following order to be drawn up, which will be promulgated to-morrow.” The General spoke with much earnestness, and with an air which satisfied me of his sincerity. The officer in waiting read the order, in which, at the General’s request, I suggested a few alterations. The General told me he had received “sure information that Beauregard has packed up all his baggage, struck his tents, and is evidently preparing for a movement, so you may be wanted at a moment’s notice.” General Burnside returned to my rooms, in company with Mr. Lamy, and we sat up, discoursing of Bull’s Run, in which his brigade was the first engaged in front. He spoke like a man of sense and a soldier of the action, and stood up for the conduct of some regiments, though he could not palliate the final disorder. The papers circulate rumours of “Jeff. Davis’s death;” nay, accounts of his burial. The public does not believe, but buys all the same.
Sept. 7th.—Yes; “Jeff. Davis must be dead.” There are some touching lamentations in the obituary notices over his fate in the other world. Meanwhile, however, his spirit seems quite alive; for there is an absolute certainty that the Confederates are coming to attack the Capitol. Lieut. Wise and Lord A. Vane Tempest argued the question whether the assault would be made by a flank movement above or direct in front; and Wise maintained the latter thesis with vigour not disproportioned to the energy with which his opponent demonstrated that the Confederates could not be such madmen as to march up to the Federal batteries. There is actually “a battle” raging (in the front of the Philadelphia newspaper offices) this instant—Populus vult decipi—decipiatur.
Sept. 8th.—Rode over to Arlington House. Went round by Aqueduct Bridge, Georgetown, and out across Chain Bridge to Brigadier Smith’s head-quarters, which are established in a comfortable house belonging to a Secessionist farmer. The General belongs to the regular army, and, if one can judge from externals, is a good officer. A libation of Bourbon and water was poured out to friendship, and we rode out with Captain Poe, of the Topographical Engineers, a hard-working, eager fellow, to examine the trench which the men were engaged in throwing up to defend the position they have just occupied on some high knolls, now cleared of wood, and overlooking ravines which stretch towards Falls Church and Vienna. Everything about the camp looked like fighting: Napoleon guns planted on the road; Griffin’s battery in a field near at hand; mountain howitzers unlimbered; strong pickets and main-guards; the five thousand men all kept close to their camps, and two regiments, in spite of M‘Clellan’s order, engaged on the trenches, which were already mounted with field-guns. General Smith, like most officers, is a Democrat and strong anti-Abolitionist, and it is not too much to suppose he would fight any rather than Virginians. As we were riding about, it got out among the men that I was present, and I was regarded with no small curiosity, staring, and some angry looks. The men do not know what to make of it when they see their officers in the company of one whom they are reading about in the papers as the most &c., &c., the world ever saw. And, indeed, I know well enough, so great is their passion and so easily are they misled, that without such safeguard the men would in all probability carry out the suggestions of one of their particular guides, who has undergone so many cuffings that he rather likes them. Am I not the cause of the disaster at Bull’s Run?
Going home, I met Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln in their new open carriage. The President was not so good-humoured, nor Mrs. Lincoln so affable, in their return to my salutation as usual. My unpopularity is certainly spreading upwards and downwards at the same time, and all because I could not turn the battle of Bull’s Run into a Federal victory, because I would not pander to the vanity of the people, and, least of all, because I will not bow my knee to the degraded creatures who have made the very name of a free press odious to honourable men. Many of the most foul-mouthed and rabid of the men who revile me because I have said the Union as it was never can be restored, are as fully satisfied of the truth of that statement as I am. They have written far severer things of their army than I have ever done. They have slandered their soldiers and their officers as I have never done. They have fed the worst passions of a morbid democracy, till it can neither see nor hear; but they shall never have the satisfaction of either driving me from my post or inducing me to deviate a hair’s-breadth from the course I have resolved to pursue, as I have done before in other cases—greater and graver, as far as I was concerned, than this.
Sept. 9th.—This morning, as I was making the most of my toilet after a ride, a gentleman in the uniform of a United States officer came up-stairs, and marched into my sitting-room, saying he wished to see me on business. I thought it was one of my numerous friends coming with a message from some one who was going to avenge Bull’s Run on me. So, going out as speedily as I could, I bowed to the officer, and asked his business. “I’ve come here because I’d like to trade with you about that chestnut horse of yours.” I replied that I could only state what price I had given for him, and say that I would take the same, and no less. “What may you have given for him?” I discovered that my friend had been already to the stable and ascertained the price from the groom, who considered himself bound in duty to name a few dollars beyond the actual sum I had given, for when I mentioned the price, the countenance of the man of war relaxed into a grim smile. “Well, I reckon that help of yours is a pretty smart chap, though he does come from your side of the world.” When the preliminaries had been arranged, the officer announced that he had come on behalf of another officer to offer me an order on his paymaster, payable at some future date, for the animal, which he desired, however, to take away upon the spot. The transaction was rather amusing, but I consented to let the horse go, much to the indignation and uneasiness of the Scotch servant, who regarded it as contrary to all the principles of morality in horseflesh.
Lord A. V. Tempest and another British subject, who applied to Mr. Seward to-day for leave to go South, were curtly refused. The Foreign Secretary is not very well pleased with us all just now, and there has been some little uneasiness between him and Lord Lyons, in consequence of representations respecting an improper excess in the United States marine on the lakes, contrary to treaty. The real cause, perhaps, of Mr. Seward’s annoyance is to be found in the exaggerated statements of the American papers respecting British reinforcements for Canada, which, in truth, are the ordinary reliefs. These small questions in the present condition of affairs cause irritation; but if the United States were not distracted by civil war, they would be seized eagerly as pretexts to excite the popular mind against Great Britain.
The great difficulty of all, which must be settled some day, relates to San Juan; and every American I have met is persuaded Great Britain is in the wrong, and must consent to a compromise or incur the risk of war. The few English in Washington, I think, were all present at dinner at the Legation to-day.
September 10th.—A party of American officers passed the evening where I dined—all, of course, Federals, but holding very different views. A Massachusetts Colonel, named Gordon, asserted that slavery was at the root of every evil which afflicted the Republic; that it was not necessary in the South or anywhere else, and that the South maintained the institution for political as well as private ends. A Virginian Captain, on the contrary, declared that slavery was in itself good; that it could not be dangerous, as it was essentially conservative, and desired nothing better than to be left alone; but that the Northern fanatics, jealous of the superior political influence and ability of Southern statesmen, and sordid Protectionists who wished to bind the South to take their goods exclusively, perpetrated all the mischief. An officer of the district of Columbia assigned all the misfortunes of the country to universal suffrage, to foreign immigration, and to these alone. Mob-law revolts well-educated men, and people who pride themselves because their fathers lived in the country before them, will not be content to see a foreigner who has been but a short time on the soil exercising as great influence over the fate of the country as himself. A contest will, therefore, always be going on between those representing the oligarchical principle and the pollarchy; and the result must be disruption, sooner or later, because there is no power in a republic to restrain the struggling factions which the weight of the crown compresses in monarchical countries.
I dined with a namesake—a major in the United States Marines—with whom I had become accidentally acquainted, in consequence of our letters frequently changing hands, and spent an agreeable evening in company with naval and military officers; not the less so because our host had some marvellous Madeira, dating back from the Conquest—I mean of Washington. Several of the officers spoke in the highest terms of General Banks, whom they call a most remarkable man; but so jealous are the politicians that he will never be permitted, they think, to get a fair chance of distinguishing himself.