My attention was also directed to a letter from certain officers of the disbanded 69th Regiment, who had permitted their Colonel to be dragged away a prisoner from the field of Bull’s Run. Without having read my letter, these gentlemen assumed that I had stigmatised Captain T. F. Meagher as one who had misconducted himself during the battle, whereas all I had said on the evidence of eye-witnesses was “that in the rout he appeared at Centreville running across country and uttering exclamations in the hearing of my informant, which indicated that he at least was perfectly satisfied that the Confederates had established their claims to be considered a belligerent power.” These officers state that Captain Meagher behaved extremely well up to a certain point in the engagement when they lost sight of him, and from which period they could say nothing about him. It was subsequent to that very time he appeared at Centreville, and long before my letter returned to America giving credit to Captain Meagher for natural gallantry in the field. I remarked that he would no doubt feel as much pained as any of his friends, at the ridicule cast upon him by the statement that he, the Captain of a company, “Went into action mounted on a magnificent charger and waving a green silk flag embroidered with a golden harp in the face of the enemy.”
A young man wearing the Indian war medal with two clasps, who said his name was Mac Ivor Hilstock, came in to inquire after some unknown friend of his. He told me he had been in Tomb’s troop of Artillery during the Indian mutiny, and had afterwards served with the French volunteers during the siege of Caprera. The news of the Civil War has produced such an immigration of military adventurers from Europe that the streets of Washington are quite filled with medals and ribands. The regular officers of the American Army regard them with considerable dislike, the greater inasmuch as Mr. Seward and the politicians encourage them. In alluding to the circumstance to General M‘Dowell, who came in to see me at a late dinner, I said, “A great many Garibaldians are in Washington just now.” “Oh,” said he in his quiet way, “it will be quite enough for a man to prove that he once saw Garibaldi to satisfy us in Washington that he is quite fit for the command of a regiment. I have recommended a man because he sailed in the ship which Garibaldi came in over here, and I’m sure it will be attended to.”
August 27th.—Fever and ague, which Gen. M‘Dowell attributes to water-melons, of which he, however, had eaten three times as much as I had. Swallowed many grains of quinine, and lay panting in the heat in-doors. Two English visitors, Mr. Lamy and a Captain of the 17th, called on me; and, afterwards, I had a conversation with M. Mercier and M. Stoeckl on the aspect of affairs. They are inclined to look forward to a more speedy solution than I think the North is weak enough to accept. I believe that peace is possible in two years or so, but only by the concession to the South of a qualified independence. The naval operations of the Federals will test the Southern mettle to the utmost. Having a sincere regard and liking for many of the Southerners whom I have met, I cannot say their cause, or its origin, or its aim, recommends itself to my sympathies; and yet I am accused of aiding it by every means in my power, because I do not re-echo the arrogant and empty boasting and insolent outbursts of the people in the North, who threaten, as the first-fruits of their success, to invade the territories subject to the British crown, and to outrage and humiliate our flag.
It is melancholy enough to see this great republic tumbling to pieces; one would regret it all the more but for the fact that it re-echoed the voices of the obscene and filthy creatures which have been driven before the lash of the lictor from all the cities of Europe. Assuredly it was a great work, but all its greatness and the idea of its life was of man, not of God. The principle of veneration, of obedience, of subordination, and self-control did not exist within. Washington-worship could not save it. The elements of destruction lay equally sized, smooth, and black at its foundations, and a spark suffices to blow the structure into the air.
August 28th.—Raining. Sundry officers turned in to inquire of me, who was quietly in bed at Washington, concerning certain skirmishes reported to have taken place last night. Sold one horse and bought another; that is, I paid ready money in the latter transaction, and in the former, received an order from an officer on the paymaster of his regiment, on a certain day not yet arrived.
To-day, Lord A. V. Tempest is added to the number of English arrivals; he amused me by narrating his reception at Willard’s on the night of his arrival. When he came in with the usual ruck of passengers, he took his turn at the book, and wrote down Lord Adolphus Vane Tempest, with possibly M.P. after it. The clerk, who was busily engaged in showing that he was perfectly indifferent to the claims of the crowd who were waiting at the counter for their rooms, when the book was finished, commenced looking over the names of the various persons, such as Leonidas Buggs, Rome, N. Y.; Doctor Onesiphorous Bowells, D.D., Syracuse; Olynthus Craggs, Palmyra, Mo.; Washington Whilkes, Indianopolis, writing down the numbers of the rooms, and handing over the keys to the waiters at the same time. When he came to the name of the English nobleman, he said, “Vane Tempest, No. 125.” “But stop,” cried Lord Adolphus. “Lycurgus Siccles,” continued the clerk, “No. 23.” “I insist upon it, sir,”—broke in Lord Adolphus,—“you really must hear me. I protest against being put in 125. I can’t go up so high.” “Why,” said the clerk, with infinite contempt, “I can put you at twice as high—I’ll give you No. 250 if I like.” This was rather too much, and Lord Adolphus put his things into a cab, and drove about Washington until he got to earth in the two-pair back of a dentist’s, for which no doubt, tout vu, he paid as much as for an apartment at the Hotel Bristol.
A gathering of American officers and others, amongst whom was Mr. Olmsted, enabled him to form some idea of the young men’s society of Washington, which is a strange mixture of politics and fighting, gossip, gaiety, and a certain apprehension of a wrath to come for their dear republic. Here is Olmsted prepared to lay down his life for free speech over a united republic, in one part of which his freedom of speech would lead to irretrievable confusion and ruin; whilst Wise, on the other hand, seeks only to establish a union which shall have a large fleet, be powerful at sea, and be able to smash up abolitionists, newspaper people, and political agitators at home.
August 29th.—It is hard to bear such a fate as befalls an unpopular man in the United States, because in no other country, as De Tocqueville[5] remarks, is the press so powerful when it is unanimous. And yet he says, too, “The journalist of the United States is usually placed in a very humble position, with a scanty education and a vulgar turn of mind. His characteristics consist of an open and coarse appeal to the passions of the populace, and he habitually abandons the principles of political science to assail the characters of individuals, to track them into private life, and disclose all their weaknesses and errors. The individuals who are already in possession of a high station in the esteem of their fellow-citizens are afraid to write in the newspapers, and they are thus deprived of the most powerful instrument which they can use to excite the passions of the multitude to their advantage. The personal opinions of the editors have no kind of weight in the eyes of the public. The only use of a journal is, that it imparts the knowledge of certain facts; and it is only by altering and distorting those facts that a journalist can contribute to the support of his own views.” When the whole of the press, without any exception in so far as I am aware, sets deliberately to work, in order to calumniate, vilify, insult, and abuse a man who is at once a stranger, a rival, and an Englishman, he may expect but one result, according to De Tocqueville.
The teeming anonymous letters I receive are filled with threats of assassination, tarring, feathering, and the like; and one of the most conspicuous of literary sbirri is in perfect rapture at the notion of a new “sensation” heading, for which he is working as hard as he can. I have no intention to add to the number of his castigations.
In the afternoon I drove to the waste grounds beyond the Capitol, in company with Mr. Olmsted and Captain Haworth, to see the 18th Massachusetts Regiment, who had just marched in, and were pitching their tents very probably for the first time. They arrived from their state with camp equipments, waggons, horses, harness, commissariat stores complete, and were clad in the blue uniform of the United States; for the volunteer fancies in greys and greens are dying out. The men were uncommonly stout young fellows, with an odd, slouching, lounging air about some of them, however, which I could not quite understand till I heard one sing out, “Hallo, sergeant, where am I to sling my hammock in this tent?” Many of them, in fact, are fishermen and sailors from Cape Cod, New Haven, and similar maritime places.