I wonder what Mr. Seward will say when I get back to Washington. Before I left, he was of opinion—at all events, he stated—that all the States would come back, at the rate of one a month. The nature of the process was not stated; but we are told there are 250,000 Federal troops now under arms, prepared to try a new one.
Combined with the feeling of animosity to the rebels, there is, I perceive, a good deal of ill-feeling towards Great Britain. The Southern papers are so angry with us for the Order in Council closing British ports against privateers and their prizes, that they advise Mr. Rust and Mr. Yancey to leave Europe. We are in evil case between North and South. I met a reverend doctor, who is most bitter in his expressions towards us; and I dare say, Bishop and General Leonidas Polk, down South, would not be much better disposed. The clergy are active on both sides; and their flocks approve of their holy violence. One journal tells with much gusto of a blasphemous chaplain, a remarkably good rifle shot, who went into one of the skirmishes lately, and killed a number of rebels—the joke being in the fact, that each time he fired and brought down his man, he exclaimed, piously, “May Heaven have mercy on your soul!” One Father Mooney, who performed the novel act for a clergyman of “christening” a big gun at Washington the other day, wound up the speech he made on the occasion, by declaring “the echo of its voice would be sweet music, inviting the children of Columbia to share the comforts of his father’s home.” Can impiety and folly, and bad taste, go further?
CHAPTER VIII. Departure for Washington
Departure for Washington—A “servant”—The American Press on the War—Military aspect of the States—Philadelphia—Baltimore—Washington—Lord Lyons—Mr. Sumner—Irritation against Great Britain—“Independence” day—Meeting of Congress—General state of affairs.
July 3rd.—Up early, breakfasted at five a.m., and left my hospitable host’s roof, on my way to Washington. The ferry-boat, which is a long way off, starts for the train at seven o’clock; and so bad are the roads, I nearly missed it. On hurrying to secure my place in the train, I said to one of the railway officers, “If you see a coloured man in a cloth cap and dark coat with metal buttons, will you be good enough, sir, to tell him I’m in this carriage.” “Why so, sir?” “He is my servant.” “Servant,” he repeated; “your servant! I presume you’re a Britisher; and if he’s your servant, I think you may as well let him find you.” And so he walked away, delighted with his cleverness, his civility, and his rebuke of an aristocrat.
Nearly four months since I went by this road to Washington. The change which has since occurred is beyond belief. Men were then speaking of place under Government, of compromises between North and South, and of peace; now they only talk of war and battle. Ever since I came out of the South, and could see the newspapers, I have been struck by the easiness of the American people, by their excessive credulity. Whether they wish it or not, they are certainly deceived. Not a day has passed without the announcement that the Federal troops were moving, and that “a great battle was expected” by somebody unknown, at some place or other.
I could not help observing the arrogant tone with which writers of stupendous ignorance on military matters write of the operations which they think the Generals should undertake. They demand that an army, which has neither adequate transport, artillery, nor cavalry, shall be pushed forward to Richmond to crush out Secession, and at the same time their columns teem with accounts from the army, which prove that it is not only ill-disciplined, but that it is ill-provided. A general outcry has been raised against the war department and the contractors, and it is openly stated that Mr. Cameron, the Secretary, has not clean hands. One journal denounces “the swindling and plunder” which prevail under his eyes. A minister who is disposed to be corrupt can be so with facility under the system of the United States, because he has absolute control over the contracts, which are rising to an enormous magnitude, as the war preparations assume more formidable dimensions. The greater part of the military stores of the State are in the South—arms, ordnance, clothing, ammunition, ships, machinery, and all kinds of matériel must be prepared in a hurry.
The condition in which the States present themselves, particularly at sea, is a curious commentary on the offensive and warlike tone of their Statesmen in their dealings with the first maritime power of the world. They cannot blockade a single port effectually. The Confederate steamer Sumter has escaped to sea from New Orleans, and ships run in and out of Charleston almost as they please. Coming so recently from the South, I can see the great difference which exists between the two races, as they may be called, exemplified in the men I have seen, and those who are in the train going towards Washington. These volunteers have none of the swash-buckler bravado, gallant-swaggering air of the Southern men. They are staid, quiet men, and the Pennsylvanians, who are on their way to join their regiment in Baltimore, are very inferior in size and strength to the Tennesseans and Carolinians.
The train is full of men in uniform. When I last went over the line, I do not believe there was a sign of soldiering, beyond perhaps the “conductor,” who is always described in the papers as being “gentlemantly,” wore his badge. And, à propos of badges, I see that civilians have taken to wearing shields of metal on their coats, enamelled with the stars and stripes, and that men who are not in the army try to make it seem they are soldiers by affecting military caps and cloaks.