Reading these bellicose articles, you are perpetually reminded of the favorite national game of "Poker." In this, a player holding a very bad hand against a good one, may possibly "bluff" his adversary down, and win the stakes, if he only has confidence enough to go on piling up the money, so as to make his own weakness appear strength. That audacity answers often happily enough, especially with the timid and inexperienced, but the professional gamblers tell you mournfully that they sometimes meet an opponent with equal nerve and a longer purse; then comes the fatal moment when the cards must be shown, and then—le quart d'heure de Rabelais. I think, if ever Britannia is forced to "see" Federalia's "hand," the world that looks on will find that the latter has been "bluffing" to hide weakness.
Nevertheless, I am far from undervaluing the actual strength of the northern land armies. They are composed of the most uncouth and heterogeneous materials; but they work well enough, after their own rough fashion, and certainly recover surprisingly fast from temporary discomfiture; it is difficult to believe that the troops who met Lee so gallantly at Gettysburg were the same who recrossed the Rappahannock in sullen despondency, after Chancellorsville. But the foreign element in the Federal forces must soon grow dangerously strong; it should never be forgotten that the foreigners, attracted by enormous bounty, even if they be of Anglo-Saxon blood, can be but mercenaries, after all; and, in history, the Swiss almost monopolize the glory of mercenary fidelity. Such subsidies can only be relied on when pay is prompt and work plenty: irregularity or inaction will soon breed discontent, followed by some such revolt as menaced the existence of Carthage.
These are some of the causes which, as it seems to me, even now neutralize, to a great extent, the really vast resources of the North, and will some day imperil her very existence as a nation—united in her present form. Now, as to the event of the struggle.
I believe amalgamation, or any other terms than absolute subjugation of the South—to be maintained hereafter by armies of occupancy—simply impracticable. This—not only on the grounds of political and social antagonism before alluded to; but because this contest has been waged after a fashion almost unknown in the later days of civilization. I do not speak of open warfare on stricken fields, or even of pitiless slaughter wrought by those who, when their blood is hot, "do not their work negligently;" but of bitter by-blows, dealt on either side, such as humanity cannot lightly forget or forgive—of passions roused, that will rankle savagely long after this generation shall be dust. There remains the chance of utterly quelling and annihilating the insurrection (I speak as a Federal) with the strong hand.
On the one side is ranged an innumerable multitude—who can hardly be looked upon as a distinct nation, for in it mingles all the blood of Western Europe—doggedly determined, perhaps, to persevere in its purpose, yet strangely apathetic when a crisis seems really imminent—easily discouraged by reverses, and fatally prone to discontent and distrust of all ruling powers—divided by political jealousies, often more bitter than the hatred of the Commonwealth's foe—mingling always with their patriotism a certain commercial calculation, that if all tales are true, makes them, from the highest to the lowest, peculiarly open to the temptations of the Almighty Dollar; these men are fighting for a positive gain, for the reacquisition of a vast territory, that if they win, they must watch, as Russia has watched Poland.
On the other side I see a real nation, numerically small, in whose veins the Anglo-Saxon blood flows almost untainted; I see rich men casting down their gold, and strong men casting down their lives, as if both were dross, in the cause they have sworn to win; I see Sybarites enduring hardships that un vieux de la vieille would have grumbled at, without a whispered murmur; I hear gentle and tender women echo in simple earnestness the words that once were spoken to me by a fair Southern wife—"I pray that Philip may die in the front, and that they may burn me in the plantation, before the Confederacy makes peace on any terms but our own." I see that reverses, instead of making this people cashier their generals, or cavil at their rulers, only intensifies their fierce energy of resistance. Here men are fighting—not to gain a foot of ground, but simply to hold their own, with the liberty which they believe to be their birthright.
It may well be that darker days are in store for the South than she has ever yet known; it may be that she will only attain her object at the cost of utter commercial ruin; it may be that the charity of the European Powers is exhausted on Poland, and that neither pity nor shame will induce them to break a thankless neutrality, here; but in the face of all barely probable contingencies, I doubt no more of the ultimate result, than I doubt of the ultimate performance of the justice of God.
[1] If this looks like an "advertisement," I can't help it, and only say that it is a disinterested one; it may be long before I need water-proofs again, and I owe their deserving manufacturer nothing but—justice.
[2] Since writing the above, I have met the parson in England. I am bound to state that he gives rather a different account of the escapade, and intimates that the Maryland youth's "tightness" was rather real than shamed; that it was, in fact, the cause of his being left behind. It is possible that I may have been too hard on his reverence's nervousness—scarcely doing justice to his earnestness of purpose; but, as to the aforesaid infernal machines I decline to retract one word.
[3] It is well to remember, that, before the Committee for inquiring into the conduct of the war, Generals McDowell and Rosecrans, in the most explicit terms, attributed many disasters to the fact, of the soldiers having no confidence in the officers who led them.