Adams Family Civil War letters; US Minister to the UK and his sons.

Battery D, Fifth U.S. artillery in action, Fredericksburg, VA.

Summary: Row of cannons with men positioned to load each cannon before the next round of bombardment.

Photographer: Timothy H. O’Sullivan

Library of Congress image.

London, May 1, 1863

And so two years have passed over and gone, and still I am abroad and still you are a Captain of cavalry. You meanwhile are near twenty-eight years old. I shall never on this earth see my twenty-fifth birthday again. Does not this fact suggest certain ideas to you? Can a man at your time of life be a cavalry captain and remain a briefless solicitor? Can a man of my general appearance pass five years in Europe and remain a candidate for the bar? In short, have we both wholly lost our reckonings and are we driven at random by fate, or have we still a course that we are steering though it is not quite the same as our old one? By the Apostle Paul, I know not. Only one fact I feel sure of. We are both no longer able to protect ourselves with the convenient fiction of the law. Let us quit that now useless shelter, and steer if possible for whatever it may have been that once lay beyond it. Neither you nor I can ever do anything at the bar….

You don’t catch me entering the army now. It would be like entering college Freshman when all one’s friends were Seniors. I have a trick worth twenty of that. My friend General Zerman, who has been the means of kicking up such a row around us here, and who is an old Dugald Dalgetty; a midshipman under the French at Trafalgar; a sous-officier at Waterloo; a captain at Navarino; a Russian admiral; a Turkish admiral; a Carbonaro; a companion of Silvio Pellico in the prisons of Spielberg; a South American officer by land and sea; and lately a general in the army of the United States; now a Major General in the Mexican service; and I’ve no doubt a damned old villain, though a perfectly jovial old sinner of seventy odd; this distinguished individual offers to take me on his staff with the rank of major to Mexico. Would n’t I like to go! The chances are a thousand to one that my bones would bleach there, but for all that the chance is worth having, for it would be a great step for a young man to secure for himself a control even to a small extent over our Mexican relations. But such magnificent dreams, worthy of the daring of those heroes, Porthos, Athos, Aramis and D’Artagnan, are not for me. By the by, though, what a good Porthos Ben Crowny would make; you could do D’Artagnan, I would put in for Aramis, and no doubt you could hunt up some one that might pass equally badly for Athos. Then we could all go to Mexico together….

I left off by sending you the debate of last Friday night which contained Earl Russell’s brilliant remarks on the celebrated letter of our Minister to Admiral Dupont. In those remarks Earl Russell was indignant at the idea of his speaking to Mr. Adams about it. No! No! He should go straight to Washington! But my Lord, having thus pledged himself in order to please the English copper-heads, to go straight to Washington, amused himself the next morning by sending straight to Mr. Adams. Of course I know nothing of the conversation that followed. That is all a secret with Mr. Seward. But I think it is not difficult to guess. It had suited Lord Russell to yield a little to the copper-head pressure on Thursday night; it suited him to allow Mr. Adams to triumphantly purge himself of misdemeanor on Friday morning. It suited him to make the American Minister think that he (Lord R.) thought him to be in the wrong — moderately. It also suited him to make the British public think that Mr. Adams had confessed his error and contrition and had received pardon. English statesmanship consists in this sort of juggling and huckstering between interests.

Such was the position when I wrote to you, or rather, immediately after I wrote to you. Since then nothing has been heard of complaining at Washington. But now see the resources of a British Minister. Last Tuesday morning the City Article, what we call the money article, of the Times, in which most of the attack has been directed, contained the following paragraph:

“The public will be glad to learn that the difficulties occasioned by the recent issue by Mr. Adams of the certificate or pass to Messrs. Howell and Zerman, are likely to be smoothed down. It is reported that Mr. Adams is conscious of having acted in the matter upon imperfect representations and with undue haste, and that consequently he raises no pretensions such as would necessitate any absolute protest from one Government to the other on the subject. It is therefore believed that the relations between our Cabinet and the United States Legation in London will continue on a friendly footing — a result which in a personal sense will afford unmixed satisfaction, since the individual and historical claims of Mr. Adams to respect and esteem have never been disputed in any quarter.”

Now, is not this a remarkable State Paper? Did you ever see a case in which the butter was laid on so curiously over the interstices of the bread? The real fact is that you should read “Earl Russell” instead of “Mr. Adams” in the fifth line. That would be the correct thing. But this statement has received universal currency and is accepted as a conclusion of the difficulty. It now remains for Lord Russell to make the explanation which no doubt Mr. Adams must demand, at some time when the whole affair shall be forgotten, and then I hope this curious chapter will be closed….

Our own position here does not change. We lead a quiet and not unpleasant life, and I pass my intervals from official work, in studying De Tocqueville and John Stuart Mill, the two high priests of our faith. So I jump from International Law to our foreign history, and am led by that to study the philosophic standing of our republic, which brings me to reflection over the advance of the democratic principle in European civilization, and so I go on till some new question of law starts me again on the circle. But I have learned to think De Tocqueville my model, and I study his life and works as the Gospel of my private religion. The great principle of democracy is still capable of rewarding a conscientious servant. And I doubt me much whether the advance of years will increase my toleration of its faults. Hence I think I see in the distance a vague and unsteady light in the direction towards which I needs must gravitate, so soon as the present disturbing influences are removed.

We are surrounded by assistants. Mr. Aspinwall, Mr. J. M. Forbes, Mr. Robert J. Walker and Mr. Evarts are all here.

London, April 24, 1863

We go here much as usual. The American question excites more fever than ever. The collisions that inevitably take place on the ocean in the effort to stop all the scandalous voyages to help the rebels, that are made from this island, necessarily created much bad feeling. I have got a little mixed up in it of late, so that my name has been bandied about rather more than I like. But such is the fate of all men who are in situations of difficulty in troubled times. I hope and trust I shall survive it. My rule is, so far as I know how, to follow a strict rule of right. As long as I keep myself within it, I trust in God and fear no evil. My endeavor will be to prevent things from coming to a rupture here, not from any particular goodwill to the English, but from a conviction that quarreling with them just now is doing service to the rebels. So far as I can judge from their own reports of their condition, the suffocating process is going on steadily to its end. On the other hand the position of the loyal part of the country is more dignified and imposing than ever. In spite of lukewarm generals and a defective and uneven policy, the great body of the people and the army are true to their duty which is to save the country. I feel more hopeful of that result than ever before. Presently our people will fight with the same energy that animates the rebels. Whenever that happens, the struggle will be soon brought to an end.

We have of late quite an influx of Americans, more than have been here all the winter before. First, there is Mr. Robert J. Walker, the quondam Secretary of the Treasury and Governor of Kansas. I am amused to find him changed into a thorough anti-slavery man, determined upon emancipation as the only condition of pacification. Then we have Mr. W. H. Aspinwall of New York and Mr. John M. Forbes. And in addition, Mr. John A. Kasson of Iowa, late Assistant Postmaster General, and now member of the next House of Representatives, who is out here as a delegate to a convention to settle postal matters between nations. I wish he could succeed in getting a reduction of ocean postage. Over and above these we have my old colleague in the Massachusetts Legislature, Mr. Alvah Crocker of Fitchburg, and George Morey, whilom the great factotum of Whig politics, in days of yore. So we cannot be said to be solitary or without sympathisers….

London, April 23, 1863

Troubled times! troubled times! My own opinion is that our bed here is getting too hot for comfort and I don’t much care how soon we are out of it.

The last storm really amounts to very little, but serves to show the temper of the people here, or rather, of the business men. I had not sent my last to you when it burst, and you would have thought the devil was loose. Ecoute, mon chéri.

The cursed blockade-runners got up a lovely scheme of trading to the Rio Grande, a few months ago, and to insure success they made a contract with J. D. at Richmond to furnish cotton at half price on the spot, etc., etc., and in accordance with the program, a steamer called the Peterhoff was sent out, which Admiral Wilkes very properly bagged, and deserves the thanks of the Government for doing so. But the owners had covered the transaction under the appearance of a trade with Mexico and Matamoras, and finding their whole game spoiled and the officers refusing at any price to insure their ships or any ships to Matamoras, they set up a tremendous cackle, and the Times and the Telegraph and all the newspapers cackled, and deputations of blockade runners went to the Foreign Office and in short the whole blockade-breaking interest, the insurance Companies and underwriters, the ship-owners, and all and every their relations, friends and acquaintances, were exasperated and acrimonious.

Meanwhile two Americans named Howell and Zerman had been some time here engaged in purchasing articles on account of the Mexican Government, but mostly with British money. The capture of the Peterhoff suddenly destroyed their chance of insurance. In great disgust they went to the Minister and asked him for a certificate of loyalty, on which they might act. The Minister saw his chance of hitting the Peterhoffers a hard blow, and at the same time of helping Mexico, and so wrote the letter which you have probably already seen in the newspapers. Of course it was secret, for its publication would necessarily destroy the insurance, but it was intended for the gentlemen at Lloyd’s. It had the intended effect. The policy was to have been executed the next day, when one of the very underwriters made public a copy of the letter which his clerk had surreptitiously taken in short-hand as he himself read it aloud to the other four underwriters; within an hour a deputation had gone up with it to Earl Russell; the Exchange was raving mad; the Times next day thundered at the Minister for his insolent attempt to license British trade; the Standard cried for his dismissal; the public cursed and threatened; even our friends were frightened, and all thought that at last salt had been deposited upon the caudal appendage of a very venerable ornithological specimen.

The Minister was grand. I studied his attitude with deep admiration. Not all the supplications of his friends could make him open his mouth either to put the public right on his letter or on the gross falsehoods told about the Peterhoff. The time had not come. Of course he was cursed for his obstinacy, but he is used to that. We remained perfectly silent while the storm raged and laughed at it. But you can’t conceive how bitter they were in the city, and the matter was twice brought up in Parliament, though nothing was said there, nor shown, except a strong desire to get hold of the Minister. Luckily Lord Russell was firm and his course irritated the Peterhoffers so as to draw off a large portion of indignation upon him. Meanwhile the man who betrayed the letter in the hope of getting revenge for being called “dishonest and fraudulent,” and of stirring up hostility to our Government, honorably refused to proceed with the insurance and was blackguarded in his own office like a thief by Howell. To complete their discomfiture, a letter of the Minister to a London firm is published this morning, coolly putting it right as to the licensing business, and referring British subjects to their own Government for protection. When the whole Peterhoff story is told we shall reverse everything and overwhelm these liars, I hope, but meanwhile the storm seems to have blown itself out and we are still steady and going straight ahead. But England is not comfortable with such Irish rows.

April 24

You may judge the state of feeling here by the debate in Parliament last night, where much bad temper was shown, but no case. You will observe that our friends kept silence and left the Government to manage the matter. As to Lord Russell’s declaration about the Minister’s course and the complaint at Washington, it is of course annoying and hurts us here, but I believe it to be only the result of the outside pressure, and I do not believe he expects really to affirm that the American Government has no right to protect its own citizens against its own fleets. One thing however is certain. There is great danger in this feeling of irritation on both sides and a rupture is highly probable. But then, if we can weather it and turn the current, as I hope we may do, if the Peterhoff case is a strong one, we shall have plain sailing for another spell. Meanwhile we still bear up and steer right onward. Another debate comes on tonight and our friends will have their innings on the Alabama case. You will probably see this in our papers, but I shan’t be able to send it to you….

Camp of 1st Mass. Cav’y
Sunday, April 5, 1863

No wonder that I began to write March instead of April, for there is nothing of April in the weather. Your last told me of the delightful weather you were having in London. Here it has been and still is beastly and unbearable. Last night, or April 4th and in Virginia, we had a violent and pelting snow storm and this morning the country is again under water, and hills, forts and camps are white with snow. Yesterday the wind was north all day and cold and violent — such as we remember in early March in Washington — accompanied with clouds of dust. I was out in it all day, for I was sent out to inspect the pickets, and starting at nine A.m. did not get in until half past three P.M. Cold, dreary, uninteresting work, riding from post to post and putting the same questions and receiving the same answers from all manner of stupid men. My escort, as is usual in such cases, consisted of twenty-five men, who served finely to impede my progress, were of no use to any one; and also my bulldog Mac, who frisked along with the column in a state of high enjoyment — in fact he would n’t fight and submitted to insults from divers curs, great and small, with almost abject deprecation of a row. You see Mac’s only idea of fighting is taking hold and then holding on, and as he stands in great fear of being left behind he calculates he won’t have time to finish up the job and make a really neat piece of work before I’m out of sight. So he dares not take hold at all. We finished our work at half past three and at four o’clock Major Higginson and myself rode off to dine with General Griffin and George Bancroft (Tacitus). And hereby hangs a tale.

Friday evening last, as Colonel Curtis, Major Higginson and myself were crooning over the fire in their tent and mourning over the loss of so many old friends, and wondering dismally what was to become of us, I was called on by Captain Bliss — George Bancroft’s step-son — and took him into my tent. He was in company with a Captain Batchelder and soon opened his business. He was sent by General Griffin, on whose staff they both were, to offer me the position of aid on the same staff. General Griffin is a well known officer of the old army, a Brigadier now in command of a Division, a young man and highly reputed. An officer of the old army, he never drinks, and he married one of our old Washington acquaintances, the Carrolls. So much for General Griffin, whom I had never seen but whose staff I should consider one of the most desirable in the army. I intimated to Bliss what my answer would be, and told him that I would express my acknowledgments to the General in person next day. Accordingly Major Higginson and I rode over at four o’clock to dine. Before dinner I had my audience and politely declined the proffered situation. I found Griffin a young, rather handsome man, with a face expressive of a good deal of resolution and energy, pleasant manners and a good deal of conversation. I told him that I was fully sensible of the great advantages and yet greater comforts which the proposed situation offered me. I did not deny that I was uncomfortable and ill at ease where I was, and that my chances of rising and of knowing what was going on would be much greater with him; but I told him I could not accept his offer for two reasons. First, if I did so I must yet retain my commission in my regiment. For a captain to do this I did not consider right. He knew what cavalry service was and how it differed from the other arms. In it all officers had to act for themselves and on their own responsibility. We were always in the face of the enemy and generally in small force. Our responsibility was great both for men and property and we were paid additionally for assuming it. I could not think it right that I should retain my rank and commission, receive the pay and stand in the way of those below me, while I shoved onto them the danger and responsibility, left my men to take care of themselves and went off and enjoyed myself looking only to my own advancement. This objection might however be removed by my receiving a new commission as aid. This he could not offer me, but even if he could, my second objection would still be in the way. He knew how essential in the cavalry officers of experience were and I told him how in our regiment our officers had been weeded out, so that now actually we could not boast of one officer, considered really reliable, to each of our four squadrons and that I was now the third line officer in this part of the regiment. I could not tell him of the sort of indirect appeal Curtis had made to me a few days before when Clapp had decided to leave us. I sustained Clapp in his course and said, that so far as the good of the regiment was concerned no officer had a right to consider himself so valuable to it that he ought to stay. Curtis replied: “That is very well to say, but you know the facts. You know whom we have and you know that if I went, and Higginson went, and yourself and one Captain more, the regiment would be stripped of its reliable officers. You know well enough that we can’t officer our companies, and then what do you want us to say?”

Now I do know all this and unfortunately for me I have not only the highest opinion of Curtis’ judgment and common sense, but the greatest admiration for his pluck and courage and the greatest fear of his censure. I know that he values me more than any line officer he now has left, and, finally, he fairly set it before me as a question of duty. Did I pretend that I could be of more use and service in this war on a staff than in my present position? If so, he disagreed with me. Would I allow myself to be driven from the post of usefulness by a man as radically wrong and dangerous as _______? If so, he could not sympathize with me. Did I go into this war as a soldier to enjoy and benefit myself or to contribute all in my power to a great result? If the last, would I not contribute most by remaining where I was, where I was of use and really essential and respectable in rank, rather than by appending myself to a General, no matter how agreeable or able? He argued in this way, and, while he preached, I felt that he himself was living up to his doctrine. I knew that he was the life and soul of this regiment, that he was doing his share in the war in his place; that Sargent could not drive him from it, and that he himself would not leave it. I felt that among us all he was the one strong, determined, formidable man. All this had its influence on me. Four months ago I should have felt differently and replied that there were better men than I here and my loss will not be felt; but now they are so all gone that I felt that the loss of each one was irreparable.

All this I could not tell Griffin without appearing conceited, and as I spoke in a general way, saying that, under existing circumstances, I felt that I was of more service in this stage of the war where I was than I could be with him and so — a miserable sense of duty triumphed over pleasure, comfort, advance, knowledge and excitement, and I gave up in favor of exposure, discomfort, danger, a contemptible superior, tyranny and hopeless obscurity, all the wished for pleasures and advantages of a Head Quarters’ life. I hope I decided wisely; I know I did honestly, unwillingly and according to my lights. It will cost me all my comfort and most of my pleasures; it may cost me my life, and that too grossly blundered away. It certainly consigns me to hopeless obscurity in this war, but I meant it for the best. When the moment came I did not want to leave my post and I have thought to remain where I believed I could be of most use. Certainly I ought to love this regiment, for certainly first and last I have undergone and sacrificed enough in its behalf.

Such was my decision. Griffin listened and agreed to the force of my reasoning and did not try to dissuade me. He only expressed regret, as he assured me that he had been in it and was well enough aware that mine was the hardest, most trying and most thankless branch of the service in existence. Colonel Williams, he told me, had recommended me to him strongly and had induced him to make the offer; but apart from all I said he evidently considered that he rather offered me a fall from a senior captaincy of cavalry to a position as personal aid to a Brigadier.

Having finished business we went in to dinner. Ah! is n’t it pleasant, this dining at Head Quarters! Line life is indeed beastly and one learns to appreciate glass, crockery and a table cloth. Old Bancroft was there and, as usual, I thought [him] a bore. The General was immensely civil to me and altogether I enjoyed myself very much. It was well I did, for some enjoyment was needed to compensate me for a ride home at nine o’clock, through a pelting, driving snow storm….

Camp of 1st Mass. Cavly
Sunday, March 22, 1863

I Am glad you have come to my conclusion as to the best basis for an end to this war. Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee and all west of the Mississippi was my theory, I think, in my letters from Hilton Head last July and was, I recollect, stigmatized by you as “English.” I am glad you have come round to it and wish the Administration would do the same. Meanwhile things are improving here, though the weather continues abominable, beastly, unbearable. I wish I could go to Boston just to get rid of the east winds, which are increasing and bring with them almost daily snow, rain and sleet, or, now and then, watery, cold, blue sky. But the army is decidedly improving, and is, I imagine, in a far better condition than ever before. It will improve daily too, and if Hooker acts as judiciously as indications would warrant us in hoping, we shall, I think, by the first of June be again within sight of Richmond with no very serious loss. The plan of the campaign, I think I see, and, if I do, it is only the execution of McClellan’s mutilated scheme of a year ago. When the roads permit, a large column will be rapidly pushed forward from Fortress Monroe, to cut off the army on the Rappahannock from Richmond, thus necessitating its capture or the abandonment of the line of the Rappahannock. But Lee will not be caught; he will fall back on Richmond and, perhaps, on his way, try to crush the army of the Peninsula. This army here will push him back with great rapidity and regardless of loss and try to force an engagement, and will crush him if it succeeds. If it fails, as I think it will, it will join the Peninsula column and push on Richmond, and be before that city in one week after leaving its camp here. None of the delays of last year will be tolerated. The march on Richmond will be such a rush as was ours of last fall to Antietam. The distances are about the same, and now all preparations are made before hand, which they were not then. At Richmond will come the tug of war, and God spare the Infantry! As for the Cavalry, I think that we shall do one of two things: either push after Lee, if he allows himself to be caught in a tight place; or, which to my mind is more probable, if he slips off, be sent up towards Culpepper to operate on his left flank and annoy him. Anyhow we shall have work enough and fighting enough, and you may well wish us well through with it. Such are my views and theories and time will show how correct they are. As I understand it, they cover only McClellan’s old plans corrected in the light of a year’s experience. Of course the army will do something else, and meanwhile we’ll see how wrong I am.

As to your and my futures, they will probably work themselves out in their own way, and I trouble myself little about them. You a little misunderstand me however. My plans for life are altered little if any; it is only my way of coming at them. All my natural inclinations tend to a combination of literature and politics and always have. I would be a philosophical statesman if I could, and a literary politician if I must; but to command attention as either I must have a certain position of my own. A lawyer’s would have done, if I could have won it, but I failed in that and that is all over, for I could not go back to it. I must look about for another. Why should not the army serve my turn — if I hang to it? Here is support, leisure for reflection and promotion — two years would make me a Colonel almost surely and my very faculty with the pen will give me reputation as such, besides my chance of distinction as a soldier. Here then would be support and position for ten years, and then, at thirty-seven I may hope to have reached that position of my own which will enable me to leave the army and to devote the rest of my life to those pursuits in which I can best play my part in the plan of the universe. This is all that my “avowal of belligerent intentions for life” amounts to, and why is not the plan a good one? You do not say it is not. So far as I now see, it is my only alternative with a long period of aimless indolence. I can’t think of coming abroad to stay without some definite plan for the future. I see only this. I am twenty-eight years old in two months and at that age a man cannot afford to say “I will devote four years to seeing the world and thinking of what I will do.” At that age my father had a son named Charles….

I begin to realize that I have made a mistake in not getting a furlough, for I find myself most thoroughly played out with the army and camp life — out of spirits, desponding and blue, and all for the sake of a few days’ change. It is in this mood, always brought on me by monotony and camp life, that I continually imagine that I am going to be hit in the next fight. When we move the mood passes away and my faith in my luck and future revives….

Camp of the 1st Mass. Cav’y
Potomac Bridge, Va., March 8, 1863

At nine o’clock on the 25th we set out for Hartwood,¹ which is the somewhat famous centre of our Brigade picket line, and some ten miles from here. Our lines run from the Rappahannock to Acquia Creek, a length of some eighteen miles and covering the whole right flank of our army. The morning was bright and sunny, the roads very heavy and the snow melting fast. We looked on our business as rather a lark and rode leisurely along enjoying the fine day and taking our time. At half past twelve we entered the woods within half a mile of our picket reserve, and just then Major Robinson of the 3d Penn., who, with Captain Blood, a curious nondescript from the 4th Penn. made up of whiskey and dullness, and myself, constituted our board, said: “Oh! there’s a carbine shot,” and we trudged along. Like Bull Run Russell, I am now about to tell you things which I myself saw. A few paces further on we were challenged by a vidette and Robinson rode forward and explained our business. He spoke to the man, and just then I heard a few more shots and Robinson shouted to me: “Hurry up, there’s a fight going on,” and began to press on through the road, knee deep in mud. I was picking my way through the woods and, in my disbelief, replied: “Well, I can’t hurry up in these roads, even if there is.” The words were scarcely out of my mouth when I saw good cause to jam the spurs into my horse and hurry up indeed. Pell-mell, without order, without lead, a mass of panic-stricken men, riderless horses and miserable cowards, our picket reserve came driving down the road upon us, in hopeless flight. Along they came, carrying helpless officers with them, throwing away arms and blankets, and in the distance we heard a few carbine shots and the unmistakable savage yell of the rebels.

We drew our sabres and got in the way of the fugitives, shouting to them to turn into the woods and show a front to the enemy. Some only dashed past, but most obeyed us stupidly and I rode into the woods to try and form a line of skirmishers. But that yell sprung up nearer, and in a twinkling my line vanished to the rear. Nor was this the worst. The panic seized my horse and he set his jaw like iron against the bit and dashed off after the rest. Oh! it was disgraceful! Worse than disgraceful, it was ludicrous!! My horse dashed through the woods — thick woods — both feet were knocked out of the stirrups, I was banged against the trees, my hat was knocked over my eyes, I could not return my sabre, but I clung to the saddle like a monkey, expecting every instant to be knocked out of it and to begin my travels to Richmond. This went on for a couple of hundred yards, when at last I got my horse under, and out of the woods into the road, when I found myself galloping along with the rear of the fugitives, side by side with Major Robinson. “My God! Adams,” said he, “this is terrible! This is disgraceful.” “Thank God,” I replied, “I am the only man of my regiment here today.” “Well you may,” said he.

Something had to be done to rally the men however at once, else we should soon find ourselves rushing, a mob, onto the infantry pickets two miles behind. I said I would go ahead and try to stop and rally the last of the column, and I let my horse out. The fresh powerful animal shot by the poor worn out government brutes and did some tall running through the Virginia mud and soon brought me out of the woods into a broad field. Here I turned and blocked the road, and pulled and stormed and swore. Some hurried by through the woods and across the fields, but a number stopped and Robinson began to form a line, such as it was. Here at once I learned the cause of the panic. Nearly all the men belonged to a new and miserable regiment, the 16th Penn. They had never been under fire before, were Pennsylvanians and — ran like sheep. We got some thirty men in one line and I was busy forming another, but what lines! No two men knew each other, their officers were gone, God only knew where! Not one face had I ever seen before, and a glance showed me not one man could be relied on. They were all squinting behind them. In less than two minutes the enemy was on us.

Meanwhile Robinson had sent Lieut. Colonel Jones, an old incompetent of his own regiment who had had command of the pickets, to the rear to rally the fugitives and had taken command. I had sent Blood off on the same errand. Meanwhile the hompesun coats dashed out of the woods, or we could see them riding through them, and instantly Robinson’s line began to vanish, to dissolve. He shouted to them to fire and an abortive volley was the result. Poor as it was it did the work. A few saddles were emptied and the rebs grew at once more prudent. But alas! If it scared the rebs, it scared my line also, which was forming a little to the right and rear and I saw the rascals wavering on the verge of a panic, while I heard Robinson calling on them to come up, for his men were leaving. “I clearly can’t drive them,” thought I, “perhaps they’ll follow me,” and I spurred my horse forward and shouted, “Come on, follow me, there they are,” waving my sword — all in the most improved patterns; but the disciples of Penn did n’t see it in that light, and as I looked over my shoulder I saw my line vanishing from both flanks and the centre on the road home. Then wrath seized my soul and I uttered a yell and chased them. I caught a hapless cuss and cut him over the head with my sabre. It only lent a new horror and fresh speed to his flight. I whanged another over the face and he tarried for a while. Into a third I drove my horse and gave him pause, and then I swore and cursed them. I called them “curs,” “dogs,” and “cowards,” a “disgrace to the 16th Pennsylvania, as the 16th was a disgrace to the service,” and so I finally prevailed on about half of my line to stop for this time.

Meanwhile the firing had ceased and no more rebs were in sight. I joined Robinson and we debated what was to be done. The enemy’s fire had done us no harm and one dead body was in the road before us. Our men were utterly surprised by the effect of their one wretched volley, but alas! they were no more reliable, and as I glanced at those feeble undecided faces, I trembled lest the enemy should attack us again. Oh! thought I, for my own company! I felt rejoiced that they were out of that scrape, but I realized how good and reliable they were. In a few minutes we had settled on a sort of plan and I went into the woods with a dozen men to cover our flank and skirmish. I scattered my men along and encouraged them with the information that at the first sign of wavering I should shoot the first man I came to, and I portentously flourished my pistol. In fact I think I should have done so then, for it could have done no harm at this stage of the game. Before I had not dared to, as I felt that if I did, these men, so green and undisciplined, would only run away from me as well as the enemy, and what we wanted was to get them to stand and stop running. Anyhow I deployed my skirmishers, such as they were.

We saw nothing of any enemy and presently I returned to Major Robinson to settle on some plan of operations. I told him I was ready to take the offensive and charge of the skirmishers, if he was ready to advance, and finally he gave me some more men and we began operations. I extended my line through the woods to the open fields beyond and began to advance. The ground was covered with snow, but the woods were so thick that I could not see more than a third of my line at once. However I pushed steadily forward and in a short time heard some one calling to me. I rode up and found two or three of my men standing round a veritable grey coat, with an officer’s chevrons on, near a tree, by which two horses were standing and at the foot of which lay a man, one glance at whom satisfied me that his course was run. As I came up the unhurt man approached me and told me he was a Captain and my prisoner; that the wounded man was his Lieutenant and friend, and that he had remained to look after him, and, adding with much agitation: “We have always tried to have your men who have fallen into our hands well treated, and we hope you will do the same. At least, let me have a surgeon for my friend.” The poor fellow was lying in the snow at the foot of the tree, shot through the abdomen and now and again writhing in pain. And how could I look on him wholly without feeling? And yet I did just that. No one who has not felt it knows what a brutaliser war is! My duty was clear and I did n’t feel an instant’s hesitation. I assured the prisoner that I did not doubt he had always behaved with humanity, that his friend should receive all possible care; asked him a few hurried questions and then told him he must leave his friend and go to Major Robinson as a prisoner. I took away their arms and parted them. They shook hands, the dying man begging his friend to tell his family of his death, and his friend almost crying as he wrung his hand and left him expiring there on the snow in the woods — alone — for my men could not stop. I went back to Robinson with the prisoner to see how his information would affect our plans, and in a few minutes went back to my men in the woods and have not seen the prisoner or the wounded man since. The last Robinson had carried into a neighboring house where he died in a few hours, I believe and hope with his Captain by his side; but I have since often thought of that scene in the woods and it has brought very near to me the horrors of war.

Now however I was very busy pushing forward my line and trying to discover where the enemy were. We could see them in force on the left across some fields, but not in the woods in front. I sent Blood into the fields with six men to observe them and cover my flank and have n’t seen him since. Somehow, no one knows how, the cuss contrived to get captured about an hour later. I can’t imagine how he did it, but he has n’t been heard of since. Well, I pushed steadily on and presently came to our old line of picket and found myself with about twenty men left. I sent three by the road to the right, three to the left, leaving the rest as reserve. I went a few hundred yards and saw a body of men drawn up on the skirts of the woods. Were they friends or foes? I halted my men and rode forward and called to them, but they made no answer. My men insisted on it they were rebels. If so, I was way ahead of our forces and in a dangerous place, but I could not believe it. They soon settled my doubts, for I heard an order given for a party to go down and drive me back, and down they came. They had carbines and we had not, and they called on us to surrender. As they approached I told my men to fall back, and two of them at once vanished into the woods, while one advanced, stood stock still, as if fascinated, and, I suppose, surrendered.

As for me, finding myself alone, after in vain calling on the man to fall back and not shooting him at once, as I should have done, I fell back myself. I knew I could rely on my horse and cared little for the enemy, keeping just so far in front watching them. Presently the one in advance of the rest saw my reserve and pulled up, and then took a long, deliberate aim and sent a bullet after me. I had never had a bead drawn on me before and the sensation was now not disagreeable. I was cantering slowly along watching my well-wisher over my shoulder and, as he aimed away, I pleasantly reflected: “You’re mounted, I’m in motion, and the more you aim the less you’ll hit”; and then the ball whistled harmlessly by, and we both stopped and he went back and molested me no more. Then came moments of doubt. A skirmish began with yelling and shooting where he came from. Who could be there and fighting? And I saw skirmishers coming up in my rear. Oh Lord! thinks I, I have got ahead of our forces with twelve men and here are the rebels in my rear. Where is Blood? and I cast anxious glances into the woods for a line of retreat and began to fall back. But the advancing line proved to be the 1st Rhode Island and at last light began to dawn on me. Our picket reserve had been divided and I had fallen in with one portion, while of the existence of the other on my left all day I had been wholly ignorant and had so blundered ahead of them and onto the enemy’s flank. Now they had come up and a skirmish was in progress. I turned back and again advanced, but when I reached my old place the skirmish was over. Fitzhugh Lee had accomplished his object, left us his compliments by the widow Coakley, and gone off with, as it now appears, about 120 horses and prisoners. I rode forward and again had a prisoner announce himself as at my disposal. This one had been left behind with two more wounded men at the widow Coakley’s, and from her fair daughters I grimly received General Lee’s compliments.

It was now evening and my thoughts fondly turned on home and the delights of my tent. I saw the officers who had that day come out on picket, and deeply compassionated them, but did n’t offer my assistance for the night. I found Major Robinson and, at last, as night was falling persuaded him that it was just as well to go home and not to pass the night there, meddling with other people’s business and giving orders to our superior officers, and so we started back. The weather had changed and the sky was full of rain, and we met the brigade coming out, now that the bird had flown and was hours away. We wished them joy of their thankless job and got home to a late dinner and that night you may well believe I revelled in my blankets, as I reflected how my share of this job was over, and the next morning I revelled the more as I thought of that miserable brigade when the patter of the rain on my tent woke me and I folded my hands for slumber anew….

In coming in [on the 4th] I found myself Judge Advocate on a Court Martial called to try the fugitives of the 25th and that has busied me ever since. My only variety has been morning drills and on Sunday last a Brigade review, at which our regiment by its appearance and general excellence, not only called forth much remark, but alone in the Brigade was most highly commended by the Division Commander. In fact, at last we are coming up and winning that place in public estimation which we have always felt belonged to us of right. We have long been under a cloud, but at last we have been found out and now every day adds to our reputation. … I am high in favor with all the remaining powers that be, and, having confidence in me, they allow me full swing with my Company and never molest me and, though I say it who perhaps should not, there are few better companies in this regiment or army. Promotions with us are rapid and already I find myself one of the four senior Captains, and consequently a chief of Squadron, which command I, a short time since, considered as filling the measure of my ambition; but we are never contented and now I find myself lusting after a staff appointment with its increased rank on a larger sphere….

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¹ To assess damages done to property of loyal men near Hartwood Church. Three officers constituted the board.

London, February 27, 1863

Have you ever seen the narrative by the Prince of Joinville of the events of the campaign of McClellan against Richmond? It seems to me remarkably well done. I think he touches as with a needle’s point the radical defect of our military system. They have always impaired the efficiency of our troops. I can see clearly the reason why we have not made an adequate use of the multitude we have summoned to the field. Two armies of a hundred thousand men each, properly officered, would have done more than our million.

In the meantime the people of this country have so far changed their views as it respects our share in the strife, as to give me a fresh source of occupation in the work of transmitting addresses and resolutions of crowded meetings everywhere. The anti-slavery feeling has been astonishingly revived by the President’s proclamation and the kindly disposition by the supplies furnished to Lancashire. It is however to be noted that all this manifestation comes from the working and middle classes. The malevolence of the aristocracy continues just as strong as ever. Every item of news that favors the notion of division and disintegration is eagerly caught up. I only wish our people could be here a little while and see what is hoped from their differences of opinion. If it did not have the effect of smoothing them all down into the pursuit of a common object, then there is not a particle of patriotism left among them….

London, February 13, 1863

The last week here has been politically very quiet. I am surprised at it, for I thought that the meeting of Parliament would set the floods going. Lord Derby, however, put his foot on any interference with us, on the first night of the session, and so we have obtained a temporary quiet. But the feeling among the upper classes is more bitter and angry than ever, and the strong popular feeling of sympathy with us is gradually dividing the nation into aristocrats and democrats, and may produce pretty serious results for England.

Society is beginning. As it is almost certainly the last season I shall pass in London, I intend to see all I can. Society in London certainly has its pleasures, and I found an example of this, the other evening. We were asked to dinner at the Duke of Argyll’s, who is a warm friend of ours, as well as the Duchess who is daughter of the anti-slavery Duchess of Sutherland. The party was evidently asked on purpose to meet us. There was Lord Clyde, who always has his hair on end and never seems to talk; Charles P. Villiers, a friendly member of the Cabinet; Charles Howard, a brother of Lord Carlisle; John Stuart Mill the logician and economist, a curious looking man with a sharp nose, a wen on his forehead and a black cravat, to whom I took particular pains to be introduced, as I think him about the ablest man in England; very retiring and embarrassed in his manner, and a mighty weapon of defense for our cause in this country. Then there was the famous physician, Dr. Brown-Séquard; then Professor Owen, the famous naturalist, geologist, palæontologist and so on, whom I have met before. Then came Lord Frederick Cavendish whom you know…. You know your friend “Lord Fwedewick’s” style of costume in America. It’s not much better here. If a man chooses to neglect rules he can do it in London though not with impunity. As for example, our friend and cousin the phenomenon who has just graduated at the university with much lower honors than we had hoped for him….