On my way to dinner at the Legation I met the President crossing Pennsylvania Avenue, striding like a crane in a bulrush swamp among the great blocks of marble, dressed in an oddly cut suit of grey, with a felt hat on the back of his head, wiping his face with a red pocket-handkerchief. He was evidently in a hurry, on his way to the White House, where I believe a telegraph has been established in communication with M‘Dowell’s head-quarters. I may mention, by-the-bye, in illustration of the extreme ignorance and arrogance which characterise the low Yankee, that a man in the uniform of a Colonel said to me to-day, as I was leaving the War Department, “They have just got a telegraph from M‘Dowell. Would it not astonish you Britishers to hear that, as our General moves on towards the enemy, he trails a telegraph wire behind him just to let them know in Washington which foot he is putting first?” I was imprudent enough to say, “I assure you the use of the telegraph is not such a novelty in Europe or even in India. When Lord Clyde made his campaign the telegraph was laid in his track as fast as he advanced,” “Oh, well, come now,” quoth the Colonel, “that’s pretty good, that is; I believe you’ll say next, your General Clyde and our Benjamin Franklin discovered lightning simultaneously.”
The calm of a Legation contrasts wonderfully in troubled times with the excitement and storm of the world outside. M. Mercier perhaps is moved to a vivacious interest in events. M. Stoeckl becomes more animated as the time approaches when he sees the fulfilment of his prophecies at hand. M. Tassara cannot be indifferent to occurrences which bear so directly on the future of Spain in Western seas; but all these diplomatists can discuss the most engrossing and portentous incidents of political and military life, with a sense of calm and indifference which was felt by the gentleman who resented being called out of his sleep to get up out of a burning house because he was only a lodger.
There is no Minister of the European Powers in Washington who watches with so much interest the march of events as Lord Lyons, or who feels as much sympathy perhaps in the Federal Government as the constituted Executive of the country to which he is accredited; but in virtue of his position he knows little or nothing officially of what passes around him, and may be regarded as a medium for the communication of despatches to Mr. Seward, and for the discharge of a great deal of most causeless and unmeaning vituperation from the conductors of the New York press against England.
On my return to Captain Johnson’s lodgings I received a note from the head-quarters of the Federals, stating that the serious action between the two armies would probably be postponed for some days. M‘Dowell’s original idea was to avoid forcing the enemy’s position directly in front, which was defended by movable batteries commanding the fords over a stream called “Bull’s Run.” He therefore proposed to make a demonstration on some point near the centre of their line, and at the same time throw the mass of his force below their extreme right, so as to turn it and get possession of the Manassas Railway in their rear: a movement which would separate him, by-the-bye, from his own communications, and enable any general worth his salt to make a magnificent counter by marching on Washington, only 27 miles away, which he could take with the greatest ease, and leave the enemy in the rear to march 120 miles to Richmond, if they dared, or to make a hasty retreat upon the higher Potomac, and to cross into the hostile country of Maryland.
M‘Dowell, however, has found the country on his left densely wooded and difficult. It is as new to him as it was to Braddock, when he cut his weary way through forest and swamp in this very district to reach, hundreds of miles away, the scene of his fatal repulse at Fort Du Quesne. And so, having moved his whole army, M‘Dowell finds himself obliged to form a new plan of attack, and, prudently fearful of pushing his under-done and over-praised levies into a river in face of an enemy, is endeavouring to ascertain with what chance of success he can attack and turn their left.
Whilst he was engaged in a reconnaissance to-day, General Tyler did one of those things which must be expected from ambitious officers, without any fear of punishment, in countries where military discipline is scarcely known. Ordered to reconnoitre the position of the enemy on the left front, when the army moved from Fairfax to Centreville this morning, General Tyler thrust forward some 3000 or 4000 men of his division down to the very banks of “Bull’s Run,” which was said to be thickly wooded, and there brought up his men under a heavy fire of artillery and musketry, from which they retired in confusion.
The papers from New York to-night are more than usually impudent and amusing. The retreat of the Confederate outposts from Fairfax Court House is represented as a most extraordinary success; at best it was an affair of outposts; but one would really think that it was a victory of no small magnitude. I learn that the Federal troops behaved in a most ruffianly and lawless manner at Fairfax Court House. It is but a bad beginning of a campaign for the restoration of the Union, to rob, burn, and destroy the property and houses of the people in the State of Virginia. The enemy are described as running in all directions, but it is evident they did not intend to defend the advanced works, which were merely constructed to prevent surprise or cavalry inroads.
I went to Willard’s, where the news of the battle, as it was called, was eagerly discussed. One little man in front of the cigar-stand declared it was all an affair of cavalry. “But how could that be among the piney woods and with a river in front, major?” “Our boys, sir, left their horses, crossed the water at a run, and went right away through them with their swords and six-shooters.” “I tell you what it is, Mr. Russell,” said a man who followed me out of the crowd and placed his hand on my shoulder, “they were whipped like curs, and they ran like curs, and I know it.” “How?” “Well, I’d rather be excused telling you.”
July 19th.—I rose early this morning in order to prepare for contingencies and to see off Captain Johnson, who was about to start with despatches for New York, containing, no doubt, the intelligence that the Federal troops had advanced against the enemy. Yesterday was so hot that officers and men on the field suffered from something like sun-stroke. To unaccustomed frames to-day the heat felt unsupportable. A troop of regular cavalry, riding through the street at an early hour, were so exhausted, horse and man, that a runaway cab could have bowled them over like nine pins.
I hastened to General Scott’s quarters, which were besieged by civilians outside and full of orderlies and officers within. Mr. Cobden would be delighted with the republican simplicity of the Commander-in-Chief’s establishment, though it did not strike me as being very cheap at the money on such an occasion. It consists, in fact, of a small three-storied brick house, the parlours on the ground floor being occupied by subordinates, the small front room on the first floor being appropriated to General Scott himself, the smaller back room being devoted to his staff, and two rooms up-stairs most probably being in possession of waste papers and the guardians of the mansion. The walls are covered with maps of the coarsest description, and with rough plans and drawings, which afford information and amusement to the orderlies and the stray aides-de-camp. “Did you ever hear anything so disgraceful in your life as the stories which are going about of the affair yesterday?” said Colonel Cullum. “I assure you it was the smallest affair possible, although the story goes that we have lost thousands of men. Our total loss is under ninety—killed, wounded, and missing; and I regret to say nearly one-third of the whole are under the latter head.” “However that may be, Colonel,” said I, “it will be difficult to believe your statement after the columns of type which appear in the papers here.” “Oh! Who minds what they say?” “You will admit, at any rate, that the retreat of these undisciplined troops from an encounter with the enemy will have a bad effect.” “Well, I suppose that’s likely enough, but it will soon be swept away in the excitement of a general advance. General Scott, having determined to attack the enemy, will not halt now, and I am going over to Brigadier M‘Dowell to examine the ground and see what is best to be done.” On leaving the room two officers came out of General Scott’s apartment; one of them said, “Why, Colonel, he’s not half the man I thought him. Well, any way he’ll be better there than M‘Dowell. If old Scott had legs he’s good for a big thing yet.”