CHAPTER XVIII. A tour of inspection round the camp
A tour of inspection round the camp—A troublesome horse—M‘Dowell and the President—My description of Bull’s Run endorsed by American officers—Influence of the Press—Newspaper correspondents—Dr. Bray—My letters—Capt. Meagher—Military adventurers—Probable duration of the war—Lord A. Vane Tempest—The American journalist—Threats of assassination.
August 26th.—General Van Vliet called from General M‘Clellan to say that the Commander-in-Chief would be happy to go round the camps with me when he next made an inspection, and would send round an orderly and charger in time to get ready before he started. These little excursions are not the most agreeable affairs in the world; for M‘Clellan delights in working down staff and escort, dashing from the Chain Bridge to Alexandria, and visiting all the posts, riding as hard as he can, and not returning till past midnight, so that if one has a regard for his cuticle, or his mail days, he will not rashly venture on such excursions. To-day he is to inspect M‘Dowell’s division.
I set out accordingly with Captain Johnson over the Long Bridge, which is now very strictly guarded. On exhibiting my pass to the sentry at the entrance, he called across to the sergeant and spoke to him aside, showing him the pass at the same time. “Are you Russell, of the London Times?” said the sergeant. I replied, “If you look at the pass, you will see who I am.” He turned it over, examined it most narrowly, and at last, with an expression of infinite dissatisfaction and anger upon his face, handed it back, saying to the sentry, “I suppose you must let him go.”
Meantime Captain Johnson was witching the world with feats of noble horsemanship, for I had lent him my celebrated horse Walker, so called because no earthly equestrian can induce him to do anything but trot violently, gallop at full speed, or stand on his hind legs. Captain Johnson laid the whole fault of the animal’s conduct to my mismanagement, affirming that all it required was a light hand and gentleness, and so, as he could display both, I promised to let him have a trial to-day. Walker on starting, however, insisted on having a dance to himself, which my friend attributed to the excitement produced by the presence of the other horse, and I rode quietly along whilst the captain proceeded to establish an acquaintance with his steed in some quiet bye-street. As I was crossing the Long Bridge, the forbidden clatter of a horse’s hoofs on the planks caused me to look round, and on, in a cloud of dust, through the midst of shouting sentries, came my friend of the gentle hand and unruffled temper, with his hat thumped down on the back of his head, his eyes gleaming, his teeth clenched, his fine features slightly flushed, to say the least of it, sawing violently at Walker’s head, and exclaiming, “You brute, I’ll teach you to walk,” till he brought up by the barrier midway on the bridge. The guard, en masse, called the captain’s attention to the order, “all horses to walk over the bridge.” “Why, that’s what I want him to do. I’ll give any man among you one hundred dollars who can make him walk along this bridge or anywhere else.” The redoubtable steed, being permitted to proceed upon its way, dashed swiftly through the tête de pont, or stood on his hind legs when imperatively arrested by a barrier or abattis, and on these occasions my excellent friend, as he displayed his pass in one hand and restrained Bucephalus with the other, reminded me of nothing so much as the statue of Peter the Great, in the square on the banks of the Neva, or the noble equestrian monument of General Jackson, which decorates the city of Washington. The troops of M‘Dowell’s division were already drawn up on a rugged plain, close to the river’s margin, in happier days the scene of the city races. A pestilential odour rose from the slaughter-houses close at hand, but regardless of odour or marsh, Walker continued his violent exercise, evidently under the idea that he was assisting at a retreat of the grand army as before.
Presently General M‘Dowell and one of his aides cantered over, and whilst waiting for General M‘Clellan, he talked of the fierce outburst directed against me in the press. “I must confess,” he said laughingly, “I am much rejoiced to find you are as much abused as I have been. I hope you mind it as little as I did. Bull’s Run was an unfortunate affair for both of us, for had I won it, you would have had to describe the pursuit of the flying enemy, and then you would have been the most popular writer in America, and I would have been lauded as the greatest of generals. See what measure has been meted to us now. I’m accused of drunkenness and gambling, and you Mr. Russell—well!—I really do hope you are not so black as you are painted.” Presently a cloud of dust on the road announced the arrival of the President, who came upon the ground in an open carriage, with Mr. Seward by his side, accompanied by General M‘Clellan and his staff in undress uniform, and an escort of the very dirtiest and most unsoldierly dragoons, with filthy accoutrements and ungroomed horses, I ever saw. The troops dressed into line and presented arms, whilst the band struck up the “Star-spangled Banner,” as the Americans have got no air which corresponds with our National Anthem, or is in any way complimentary to the quadrennial despot who fills the President’s chair.
General M‘Dowell seems on most excellent terms with the present Commander-in-Chief, as he is with the President. Immediately after Bull’s Bun, when the President first saw M‘Dowell, he said to him, “I have not lost a particle of confidence in you,” to which the General replied, “I don’t see why you should, Mr. President.” But there was a curious commentary, either on the sincerity of Mr. Lincoln, or in his utter subserviency to mob opinion, in the fact that he who can overrule Congress and act pretty much as he pleases in time of war, had, without opportunity for explanation or demand for it, at once displaced the man in whom he still retained the fullest confidence, degraded him to command of a division of the army of which he had been General-in-Chief, and placed a junior officer over his head.
After some ordinary movements, the march past took place, which satisfied me that the new levies were very superior to the three months’ men, though far, indeed, from being soldiers. Finer material could not be found in physique. With the exception of an assemblage of miserable scarecrows in rags and tatters, swept up in New York and commanded by a Mr. Kerrigan, no division of the ordinary line, in any army, could show a greater number of tall, robust men in the prime of life. A soldier standing near me, pointing out Kerrigan’s corps, said, “The boy who commands that pretty lot recruited them first for the Seceshes in New York, but finding he could not get them away he handed them over to Uncle Sam.” The men were silent as they marched past, and did not cheer for President or Union.
I returned from the field to Arlington House, having been invited with my friend to share the general’s camp dinner. On our way along the road, I asked Major Brown why he rode over to us before the review commenced. “Well,” said he, “my attention was called to you by one of our staff saying ‘there are two Englishmen,’ and the general sent me over to invite them, and followed when he saw who it was.” “But how could you tell we were English?” “I don’t know,” said he, “there were other civilians about, but there was something about the look of you two which marked you immediately as John Bull.”