Charles Francis Adams, Jr., to his father
Potomac Creek Bridge, Va.
May 24, 1863
Yours and Henry’s of May 1st with the accompanying volumes of Cust reached me last evening. One of your May letters is still missing. The volumes of Cust are most acceptable. They are written with more spirit than I should expect in so old a man, and his military characters of leading Generals are really in their way admirable — pen and ink sketches of the best class. It is really a most useful book for me and a most admirable selection. If I remain long a soldier it will be of no small use in my education. Did I thank you for “The Golden Treasury “? It’s strange. I laughed as I opened it, it seemed such an odd book for a camp and the field; but strangely enough I find that I read it more than any book I have, and that it is more eagerly picked up by my friends. It is very pleasant to lie down in all this dust and heat and to read some charming little thing of Suckling’s and Herrick’s.
I laughed heartily over your and Henry’s accounts of Earl Russell’s diplomacy and the John Bull diplomacy. How strange, and he a man who will figure in history. John Bull backed you right down and made you explain and eat your humble pie, and every one admired his bold position and laughed at your humiliation; and then comes the secret history and Bottom, that roaring lion, becomes Bottom the sucking dove, and winks at the alarmed Plenipotentiary and says, “it is only I, Bottom the joiner.” And so after all, that high toned descendant of all the Bedfords is no better than some men we do not admire nearer home. But I cannot but wonder at Russell’s course. Any day may force him into real collision with you; the danger of this is imminent; and if it comes, what a terrible handle he has given you… You could expose him to two continents, and your silence now would make the exposure more galling. It seems to me that the noble Earl is now under heavy bonds for his good behavior for the remainder of your term. I think the last part of that term is going to be far more pleasant than the first.
I am very hopeful and sanguine, though no longer confident. In spite of a wretched policy in Washington which perpetually divides and dissipates our strength; and in spite of the acknowledged mediocrity of our Generals, our sheer strength is carrying through this war. In this Army of the Potomac affairs are today truly deplorable, and yet I lose and the army loses no heart — all underneath is so sound and good. We know, we feel, that our misfortunes are accidents and that we must work through them and the real excellence which we daily see and feel must come to the surface. The truth in regard to the late battles is gradually creeping out, and the whole army — Cavalry, Artillery, Infantry and Engineers — feel and know that they won the one decided victory of the war and that Hooker threw it away. Hooker today, I think, stands lower in the estimation of the army than ever did the redoubtable John Pope; but what can we do? Sickles, Butterfield and Hooker are the disgrace and bane of this army; they are our three humbugs, intriguers and demagogues. Let them be disposed of and the army would be well satisfied to be led by any of the corps commanders. We do not need geniuses; we have had enough of brilliant generals; and give us in the due course of promotion an honest, faithful, common-sensed and hard-fighting soldier, not stupid, and we feel sure of success. There are plenty to choose from — Sedgwick, Meade, Reynolds, Slocum and Stoneman, any of them would satisfy. I do not dare to discuss our western prospects. If Vicksburg falls, I care very little what becomes of Richmond, and Grant seems to be doing well. I am sanguine but not as confident, for I cannot forget how McClellan was within four miles of Richmond when the reinforcements of the enemy poured in. Grant must be quick, for if we do not soon hear of the capture of Vicksburg, or of some point necessitating its final fall, I fear we shall hear a different and older story. However, let us hope for the best and fight it out.
Since I last wrote a week ago, nothing of moment has turned. We are still in this hot, exposed, dusty and carrion-scented camp and, as sure as fate will all be sick unless we move out of this region of poisoned atmosphere. We are under orders for early tomorrow morning and I do hope we shall get away. Anything is better, and already all the impetus of my four weeks campaign has expended itself.
We have been going through a course of cleanliness and inspection, getting the men and arms clean and neat, and bringing up our discipline. In hot weather this is very charming and when accompanied by the miserable slavery which is one of the traditions of discipline in this regiment, it makes a camp life of monotony, varied by ham and hard bread (literally my only fare for weeks past) in itself not attractive, as adventitiously disagreeable as may be. On the 9th of April last I had permission to leave camp and dined at General Devens’. On the 17th of May, after four weeks of field duty and not one hour of the whole six weeks off duty, I asked permission of Colonel Curtis to ride over to dine with an old friend at General Sedgwick’s, it being a Sunday afternoon. After much hemming and hawing I was point-blank refused on some miserable reason, such as that I was the only officer in my company here, or something of that sort. With old schoolmates and acquaintances within sight by the dozen, Paul Revere, Sam Quincy and such as they, I have never seen one of them and, for all the good they do me, they might as well be with you. Of course such a system as this, while it does stop gadding on the part of officers, does not tend to make life pleasant or one’s duties agreeable, and, proverbially timid as I am, I think I would rather fight three battles a week and be in the field, than thus rot and rust in camp. Curtis is a good officer and a better fellow and as strict in his own duty as in ours; but while I decidedly admire his faculty of saying “no” to his most intimate associates here, it certainly does not serve to make our pork and hard-bread more palatable. So here I am, attending daily to the needs of my men and horses, duly seeing that hair is short and clothes are clean, paying great attention to belts and sabres, inspecting pistols and policing quarters and so, not very intellectually and indeed with some sense of fatigue, playing my part in the struggle. . . .
The papers have just come with the news of Grant’s successes. This, if all be true, settles in our favor the material issue of the war, and, in a military point of view, I do not see how it can fail, with the recognized energy of our western Generals, to make the destruction of the confederacy as a military power a mere question of time. Our raids would seem to show that the Confederates have no reserve strength. If this be so, their line is like a chain the strength of which is equal to the strength of the weakest link. Broken at Vicksburg they must fall in Tennessee and can be forced out of Virginia. We shall see. Meanwhile let me congratulate you. The fall of Vicksburg will not tend, I imagine, to aggravate your diplomatic troubles.
till finally an old half-starved mule meandered too close to our lines, when off went a hundred or more muskets, and down fell the poor mule. This little incident, for a few minutes, broke the monotony. A coat and hat were elevated on a stick above our rifle pits, and in an instant they were riddled with bullets from the enemy. The rebels were a little excited at the ruse, and probably thought, after their firing, there must be one less Yankee in our camp. In their eagerness a few of them raised their heads a little above their breastworks, when a hundred bullets flew at them from our side. They all dropped instantly, and we could not tell whether they were hit or not. The rebels, as well as ourselves, occasionally hold up a hat by way of diversion. A shell from an enemy’s gun dropped into our camp rather unexpectedly, and bursted near a group, wounding several, but only slightly, though the doctor thinks one of the wounded will not be able to sit down comfortably for a few days. I suppose, then, he can go on picket, or walk around and enjoy the country.
