Monday, 2d—We are having regular drilling now; company drill at 10 o’clock in the forenoon for two hours, and in the afternoon regimental drill for two hours. Every evening at 5 o’clock we have dress parade.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Monday, 2d.—Passing down Cumberland Mountain, the three companies bivouacked at Camp McGinnis, on Wolf River, some ten miles north of Jamestown.
As I was sick of the measles, I remained for a week with one Mr. Lathan, who lived one mile from Camp McGinnis. One of my comrades, J. L. Thomas, remained with me.
September 2nd.—It would seem as if the North were perfectly destitute of common sense. Here they are as rampant because they have succeeded with an overwhelming fleet in shelling out the defenders of some poor unfinished earthworks, on a spit of sand on the coast of North Carolina, as if they had already crushed the Southern rebellion. They affect to consider this achievement a counterpoise to Bull Run.
Surely the press cannot represent the feelings of the staid and thinking masses of the Northern States! The success is unquestionably useful to the Federalists, but it no more adds to their chances of crushing the Confederacy, than shooting off the end of an elephant’s tail contributes to the hunter’s capture of the animal.
An officious little person, who was buzzing about here as correspondent of a London newspaper, made himself agreeable by coming with a caricature of my humble self at the battle of Bull Run, in a laborious and most unsuccessful imitation of Punch, in which I am represented with rather a flattering face and figure, seated before a huge telescope, surrounded by bottles of London stout, and looking at the fight. This is supposed to be very humorous and amusing, and my good-natured friend was rather astonished when I cut it out and inserted it carefully in a scrap-book, opposite a sketch from fancy of the New York Fire Zouaves charging a battery and routing a regiment of cavalry, which appeared last week in a much more imaginative and amusing periodical, which aspires to describe with pen and pencil the actual current events of the war.
Going out for my usual ride to-day, I saw General Scott, between two aides-de-camp, slowly pacing homewards from the War Office. He is still Commander-in-Chief of the army, and affects to direct movements and to control the disposition of the troops, but a power greater than his increases steadily at General McClellan’s head-quarters. For my own part I confess that General McClellan does not appear to me a man of action, or, at least, a man who intends to act as speedily as the crisis demands. He should be out with his army across the Potomac, living among his generals, studying the composition of his army, investigating its defects, and, above all, showing himself to the men as soon afterwards as possible, if he cannot be with them at the time, in the small affairs which constantly occur along the front, and never permitting them to receive a blow without taking care that they give at least two in return. General Scott, jam fracta membra labore, would do all the work of departments and superintendence admirably well; but, as Montesquieu taught long ago, faction and intrigue are the cancers which peculiarly eat into the body politic of republics, and McClellan fears, no doubt, that his absence from the capital, even though he went but across the river, would animate his enemies to undermine and supplant him.
I have heard several people say lately, “I wish old Scott would go away,” by which they mean that they would be happy to strike him down when his back was turned, but feared his personal influence with the President and his Cabinet. Two months ago and his was the most honoured name in the States: one was sickened by the constant repetition of elaborate plans, in which the General was represented playing the part of an Indian juggler, and holding an enormous boa constrictor of a Federal army in his hands, which he was preparing to let go as soon as he had coiled it completely round the frightened Secessionist rabbit; “now none so poor to do him reverence.” Hard is the fate of those who serve republics. The officers who met the old man in the street to-day passed him by without a salute or mark of recognition, although he wore his uniform coat, with yellow lapels and yellow sash; and one of a group which came out of a restaurant close to the General’s house, exclaimed, almost in his hearing, “Old fuss-and-feathers don’t look first-rate to-day.”
In the evening I went with a Scotch gentleman, who was formerly acquainted with General McClellan when he was superintendent of the Central Illinois Railway, to his head-quarters, which are in the house of Captain Wilkes at the corner of President Square, near Mr. Seward’s, and not far from the spot where General Sickles shot down the unhappy man who had temporarily disturbed the peace of his domestic relations. The parlours were full of officers smoking, reading the papers, and writing, and after a short conversation with General Marcy, Chief of the Staff, Van Vliet, aide-de-camp of the Commander-in-Chief, led the way up-stairs to the top of the house, where we found General McClellan, just returned from a long ride, and seated in his shirt sleeves on the side of his camp-bed. He looked better than I have yet seen him, for his dress showed to advantage the powerful, compact formation of his figure, massive throat, well-set head, and muscular energy of his frame. Nothing could be more agreeable or easy than his manner. In his clear, dark-blue eye was no trace of uneasiness or hidden purpose; but his mouth, covered by a short, thick moustache, rarely joins in the smile that overspreads his face when he is animated by telling or hearing some matter of interest. Telegraph wires ran all about the house, and as we sat round the General’s table, despatches were repeatedly brought in from the Generals in the front. Sometimes McClellan laid down his cigar and went off to study a large map of the position, which was fixed to the wall close to the head of his bed; but more frequently the contents of the despatches caused him to smile or to utter some exclamation, which gave one an idea that he did not attach much importance to the news, and had not great faith in the reports received from his subordinate officers, who are always under the impression that the enemy are coming on in force.
It is plain the General has got no high opinion of volunteer officers and soldiers. In addition to unsteadiness in action, which arises from want of confidence in the officers as much as from any other cause, the men labour under the great defect of exceeding rashness, a contempt for the most ordinary precautions, and a liability to unaccountable alarms and credulousness of false report; but, admitting all these circumstances, McClellan has a soldier’s faith in gros uataillons and sees no doubt of ultimate success in a military point of view, provided the politicians keep quiet, and, charming men as they are, cease to meddle with things they don’t understand. Although some very good officers have deserted the United States army and are now with the Confederates, a very considerable majority of West Point officers have adhered to the Federals. I am satisfied, by an actual inspection of the lists, that the Northerners retain the same preponderance in officers who have received a military education, as they possess in wealth and other means, and resources for carrying on the war.
The General consumes tobacco largely, and not only smokes cigars, but indulges in the more naked beauties, of a quid. From tobacco we wandered to the Crimea, and thence went half round the world, till we halted before the Virginian watch-fires, which these good volunteers will insist on lighting under the very noses of the enemy’s pickets; nor was it till late we retired, leaving the General to his well-earned repose.
General McClellan took the situation of affairs in a very easy and philosophical spirit. According to his own map and showing, the enemy not only overlapped his lines from the batteries by which they blockaded the Potomac on the right, to their extreme left on the river above Washington, but have established themselves in a kind of salient angle on his front, at a place called Munson’s Hill, where their flag waved from entrenchments within sight of the Capitol. However, from an observation he made, I imagined that the General would make an effort to recover his lost ground; at any rate, beat up the enemy’s quarters, in order to see what they were doing; and he promised to send an orderly round and let me know; so, before I retired, I gave orders to my groom to have “Walker” in readiness.
2nd.—The following extract from a letter which I have just written to a friend, is the sum and substance of my thoughts, journalized for to-day. “Major _____ will not write his mother whether an attack on Washington is expected. I will tell you what I think: From the dome of the Capitol we can see the rebels throwing up works just beyond Arlington. Every day or two we have picket skirmishing. On Wednesday night we had, within a short distance of Washington, seven men set as picket guards. The next day I saw one of the seven wounded in the side by a musket ball. The other six were killed. Almost everybody here is looking for an attack, but I do not believe we shall have one. I have no doubt that Beauregard would like to draw us out to attack him; that he would then retreat, with the hope of drawing us into his nets as he did at Bull Run. But he will not attack us here.
MONDAY 2
Pleasant day and has passed off with but little excitement. People feel better since the success at Hateras Inlet N.C. If we are successful on the other side of the River we shall be all right again. Took a long walk after dinner with wife & Julia out to the “Park” (7th St) to see the Cavalry there, some 3000. From there we went to Camp Cameron to see the “Anderson Zuaves.” Saw their Dress parade and Battallion drill. Introduced to a number of the officers.
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The three diary manuscript volumes, Washington during the Civil War: The Diary of Horatio Nelson Taft, 1861-1865, are available online at The Library of Congress.
Astoria, Monday, Sept. 2nd.
Dear Georgy: Your interesting letter was highly appreciated by little May, as well as by her parents, who thought it very kind of you to elaborate so nice a little story out of the materials. May’s artistic efforts were revived by it and all her inspirations lately breathe of camp life and army movements. I enclose the last one, “Recollections of what I saw on Riker’s Island when passing in the boat,” which is really not bad for a fancy sketch. You would have been amused to hear her reading the newspapers aloud to little Bertha the other day. I was writing at the time and took down verbatim one sentence. “We are sorry to state that General Brigade, a contraband of war, was taken prisoner last night at Fort Schuyler: he was on his way to visit the navy-yard at Bulls Run and was brought home dead and very severely wounded.”
The children and nurses have just driven off with a carriage full of little pails and spades to spend the afternoon digging in the sand at Bowery Bay. You know the bliss, especially if the tide admits of rolling up their pantalettes and wading in. We are having lovely weather, which I wish you were sharing. Indeed, I am greatly disappointed that you will not come on while things are comparatively quiet and stay awhile with us. Robert and I have had some delicious sails in the boat, for which I have taken a great liking, and we are having a quiet but delightful summer. To-day the Astoria flags are out in great numbers for our naval capture; a little victory which is refreshing after so many defeats. Abby and Cousin William are very blue up in Lenox and write desponding notes in the Toots style. The Micawber mood will probably follow, in which Abby will be “inscribing her name with a rusty nail” on the walls of some southern dungeon. Indeed I begin to think she must be in the confidence of the rebel leaders, from the entire assurance with which she looks for an attack by sea upon some northern port, while the land army meantime marches triumphantly to Washington.
We are looking for Sarah Woolsey this week to make a little visit, and were in hopes that Rose Terry, who was with her, would come too.
I sent your two letters to Mother, who will enjoy them as much as May did. When you write again tell us more about Joe,—how he is looking after the summer’s campaign, how he really is, etc. It seems strange to think that autumn is already here and the dreaded hot weather for the troops nearly over, I suppose. If we can get anything for you in New York while the girls are away, or do any of the things for which you have depended upon them, be sure to let me know. . . . I wonder if a season will ever come when for once we can all spend it together without the need of ink and paper. Some large, generally satisfactory Utopian farmhouse, where, as in Pomfret days, one vehicle and one horse (alas, poor beast!) and Mother to drive, would be ample accommodation and style for all. Give our love and a God-speed to Joe when you see him next, and insist upon his taking good care of himself when out of your sight.
Affectionately yours,
Mary.
SEPTEMBER 2D.—I voluntarily hunted up Capt. Lee’s report, and prepared an article for the press based on its statements.
September 2d.—Mr. Miles says he is not going anywhere at all, not even home. He is to sit here permanently—chairman of a committee to overhaul camps, commissariats, etc., etc.
We exchanged our ideas of Mr. Mason, in which we agreed perfectly. In the first place, he has a noble presence—really a handsome man; is a manly old Virginian, straightforward, brave, truthful, clever, the very beau-ideal of an independent, high-spirited F. F. V. If the English value a genuine man they will have one here. In every particular he is the exact opposite of Talleyrand. He has some peculiarities. He had never an ache or a pain himself; his physique is perfect, and he loudly declares that he hates to see persons ill; seems to him an unpardonable weakness.
It began to grow late. Many people had come to say good-by to me. I had fever as usual to-day, but in the excitement of this crowd of friends the invalid forgot fever. Mr. Chesnut held up his watch to me warningly and intimated “it was late, indeed, for one who has to travel tomorrow.” So, as the Yankees say after every defeat, I “retired in good order.”
Not quite, for I forgot handkerchief and fan. Gonzales rushed after and met me at the foot of the stairs. In his foreign, pathetic, polite, high-bred way, he bowed low and said he had made an excuse for the fan, for he had a present to make me, and then, though “startled and amazed, I paused and on the stranger gazed.” Alas! I am a woman approaching forty, and the offering proved to be a bottle of cherry bounce. Nothing could have been more opportune, and with a little ice, etc., will help, I am sure, to save my life on that dreadful journey home.
No discouragement now felt at the North. They take our forts and are satisfied for a while. Then the English are strictly neutral. Like the woman who saw her husband fight the bear, “It was the first fight she ever saw when she did not care who whipped.”
Mr. Davis was very kind about it all. He told Mr. Chesnut to go home and have an eye to all the State defenses, etc., and that he would give him any position he asked for if he still wished to continue in the army. Now, this would be all that heart could wish, but Mr. Chesnut will never ask for anything. What will he ask for? That’s the rub. I am certain of very few things in life now, but this is one I am certain of: Mr. Chesnut will never ask mortal man for any promotion for himself or for one of his own family.
September 2.—A procession of several hundred stout negro men, members of the “domestic institution,” marched through the streets of Memphis, Tenn., in military order, under the command of Confederate officers. They were armed and equipped with shovels, axes, blankets, etc. A merrier set never were seen. They were brimful of patriotism, shouting for Jeff. Davis and singing war-songs, and each looked as if he only wanted the privilege of shooting an abolitionist. The arms of these colored warriors were rather mysterious. Could it be that those gleaming axes were intended to drive into the thick skulls of abolitionists the truth, to which they are wilfully blind, that their interference in behalf of Southern slaves is neither appreciated nor desired; or that these shovels were intended to dig trenches for the interment of their carcasses? It may be that the shovels are to be used in digging ditches, throwing up breastworks, or the construction of masked batteries, these abominations to every abolition Paul Pry who is so unlucky as to stumble upon them.—Memphis Avalanche, September 3.
—To-day six hundred rebels under Gen. Rains approached Fort Scott and seized eighty mules belonging to the United States, killing the teamster. A messenger was despatched to Montgomery, who had five hundred men. He pursued Rains eleven miles, killing several of his men, when, coming on the main body of the enemy, a battle commenced, the rebels having cannon, and Montgomery one howitzer only. The fight lasted two hours, when Montgomery slowly retreated, keeping up a running fight until nightfall.—N. Y. World, September 17.
— Jeff. Thompson at Camp Hunter, Mo., issued a proclamation, in which, as a retaliative measure for Fremont’s proclamation, he threatened, for every Southern soldier and citizen executed, to hang, draw, and quarter a minion of Abraham Lincoln.—(Doc. 24.)
—The Louisville (Ky.) Journal of this morning, strongly condemns the proclamation of Gen. Fremont, and urges the State Legislature by its action to avoid the contingency of any such action here. It says the Legislature must now decide whether it will organize a body of local soldiery for State purposes, strong enough to enforce the obligations of loyal neutrality, or whether it will suffer things to go on as they have been doing, with a prospect of lapsing at no distant day into the condition which, in so brief a time, has brought on the sway of martial law in Missouri.
— The Massachusetts Thirteenth regiment surrounded the Charleston “Home Guards” Cavalry about two o’clock this afternoon at Beher’s Mill, two and a half miles above Harper’s Ferry, Va., and took twenty prisoners, having first killed three and wounded five of the secessionists. The Massachusetts boys brought them in, singing “Gay and Happy.”— National Intelligencer, September 3.
—Senator Andrew Johnson, of Tennessee, at Newport, Ky., delivered an able and patriotic speech, at a full and enthusiastic Union meeting.—Cincinnati Commercial, September 2.
—The secessionists encamped at Worthington, in Marion County, Va., four hundred in number, were attacked by Col. Crosman, of General Kelley’s staff, with two companies of United States troops, a little after daylight this morning; but the secessionists were too strong for him, and he was obliged to fall back with a loss of two men.—Philadelphia Inquirer, September 3.
—The United States frigate Minnesota, having on beard the rebel prisoners taken at Forts Hatteras and Clark, North Carolina, arrived at New York.
—The barks Sumter and Moneynick, principally owned in Charleston, S. C., were seized by the surveyor of Boston to-day, under the confiscation act.—N. Y. World, September 3.
