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

Charles Francis Adams, Jr., to his father

Washington, D.C. August 20, 1864

Here I find myself once more in Washington, and that city as low-toned and unattractive as ever, looking much the same as ever, except that I see in it fewer uniforms. I came up here to try and carry out a plan I have for mounting the 5th Cavalry, to which I have already got General Grant’s assent and I shall leave the instant I can finish my business. I met John here and we passed a couple of days pleasantly together. . . . He and I went to call on Governor Seward and passed an hour with your chief. He probably will write you his impressions, mine were not cheerful. The old Governor did n’t seem to feel firm about the future and retired himself largely into his philosophy. His tone was very different from that of last spring, when he seemed to me so buoyant and confident of the future. Then he evidently thought he saw his way through; now, as evidently, his future is obscured and dangerous. He had none of his crowing confidence of last spring, and I was pained to feel how discouraged he was. He too gave me the impression which all here do, of “going it wild,” and not seeing where this thing is going to come out; but while others have a reckless and excited manner of going it, he, on the contrary, looked like a thoughtful and wise man, troubled at seeing the machine passing beyond control. At his office I got your letters of the 4th and a book, “Denia” from Henry.

You discuss the Sanders-Jewett fiasco and compare it with that other negotiation. Your friend Russell, I believe, might now bring about a peace, both sections are so weary of this war. If only representatives of these two combatants, both honestly desirous of peace and neither trammelled by instructions nor with power to conclude, could meet in London simply informally to discuss, and, if it might be, to recommend some basis of adjustment, I should feel great confidence that that first step which alone costs had been well taken. As it is, however, for all I can see, we must go floundering on indefinitely through torrents of blood and unfathomable bankruptcy. Yet I never felt more confident than now of our power to crush out this rebellion. Everything to me speaks of success, if the loyal people of the country are only true to themselves, and I believe the confederates fully realize that fact. . . .

Charles Francis Adams, Jr., to Henry Adams

H.Q. Cav’y Escort, A. of P.
Before Petersburg, August 13, 1864

The life of Napier I finished some days ago. The English are getting to understand the art of biography for they let a man tell his own story and reflect his own character in his own words. Yet I don’t think that this biographer made the most of his subject. Sir William Napier’s life, like those of most literary men, had very little in it to make it interesting and could be made so only as reflecting the principles, manners and conversation of his times. Of these beyond his letters we get nothing in this work. Sir William Napier was a thinker and talker. He knew and conversed much with many noteworthy men, and yet his notes of conversations with Soult are all that these volumes supply from this source. The author is nothing of the Boswell and his work accordingly loses four-fifths of its value and interest.

Meanwhile here greater operations are going on than any which Napier undertook to describe, and it is really amusing to see how the developments of this war have antiquated all Napier’s military theories. I am very curious to get your later letters and to see what you have to say on these peace questions and intrigues. What a flutter and commotion among would-be negotiators, money-lenders and intriguers the publication of a leaf from your memoirs would create! As I watched the Sanders-Greeley fiasco in its developments I could n’t help thinking what a dust I might have kicked up on my arrival here last spring. How well that secret was kept; not a lisp of it apparently ever crept into any print; and yet, first and last, it must have come to the knowledge of many men. Now, I am so isolated here that I am curious to know how you look at these movements in the North and what degree of importance you attach to them. Of course it is, and will remain, a question of military success, but have these peace movements as yet developed any new strength? Except in point of numbers the McClellan meeting in New York was a great failure, as it could n’t muster even a fifth rate man to address an enormous audience. So far as I see the disciples of peace too are the old set and the old set only. They cannot get any new hands at the bellows. In spite of what you write I still do not see any symptoms of that powerful combination of fragmentary organisations which alone could defeat Lincoln. What with peace and War Democrats, Fremont men and McClellan men, it seems to me that more decisive disaster than any we have yet met will be necessary to drive the war party from power. How does this strike you? I really know nothing of the true posture of affairs, and anxiously wait for reliable news.

Meanwhile some gleams of real success seem actually to be shining upon our arms. Old Farragut seems to have called an emphatic halt on all re-enforcements to Hood, and the rebels seem to me to be playing our game by holding so fiercely on to Atlanta. Affairs in the southwest look undoubtedly prosperous. Mean while, since I wrote yesterday, symptoms of movements have developed themselves here — a sudden movement, the aim of which seems unknown to every one. After finishing my letter of yesterday I rode down to City Point and while there we suddenly heard that the 2d Corps was moving down, and almost immediately the head of its column came in sight. At once the question arose where were they going? The same question still remains unanswered. Hancock declared that he did n’t know; Colonel Walker, his Assistant Adjutant General, confessed utter ignorance; everyone was at fault. Half a dozen different destinations were at once suggested and canvassed. First came Washington. I think not; the enemy is retiring and Hancock ranks Sheridan. Grant would never have put Sheridan in command up there to immediately supersede him. Then came Acquia Creek. The same objection holds and Colonel Walker told me that they were to take no artillery with them. Besides, Barlow, who has been away on leave, suddenly returned last night, evidently having been sent for, which he would not have done had the Corps been going North. This morning we learn that three Brigades of cavalry will today cross the river with three days’ forage and rations. Can this be a combined movement north of the James? I think not. Such a movement by a single corps could scarcely be more than a diversion, and no operations requiring a diversion are contemplated here, where all is quiet. Besides, a large mass of transportation is accumulated at City Point. Finally, Mobile is suggested. I think wrongly, for the transports are not ocean vessels and are wholly unfit for so long a voyage. One other point of destination only is suggested and that is Wilmington. A sudden combined attack, that is possible. On this I have settled down my hopes. The wish may be father of the thought, but the very thought makes me happy. This place would carry out all that I have desired in all my late letters. To transport the troops by water would save time and all the expenditure of a terrible march in August. The enemy could have no clue as to where we were going and a coup de main, carried out with all Hancock’s dash, could hardly fail of success. By it we should once more carry the war into Africa; we should turn the line of the Roanoke and prevent Lee’s ever using it if driven from Virginia. We should effectually recall his troops from Maryland to attack this army or to defend North Carolina. We should decisively disable him from re-enforcing Hood, and finally, last not least, we would gladden all your hearts by inflicting the death blow on all blockade running. With Atlanta, Mobile and Wilmington in our hands I do not think the peace party could make much headway, or that we need fear to face the fall elections. Before this letter reaches you I suppose you will know in what direction this movement develops itself. I can’t help feeling sanguine. Grant is a man of such infinite resource and ceaseless activity — scarcely does one scheme fail before he has another on foot; baffled in one direction he immediately gropes round for a vulnerable point elsewhere — that I cannot but hope for great results the whole time. He has deserved success so often that he will surely have it at last. If I have divined his plan, it is certainly different from any which I had conceived in its details — different and much better. The movement by sea would be a great thing, both in deceiving the enemy and bringing our troops fresh to the scratch. The weak point in it would of course be in our position here. The enemy might move round and take our defences in reverse. Our works are very strong and we should have from 40 to 50,000 men to defend them; but our line is very long and, I should say, easily flanked. No attack in front would alarm us, but a bold flank movement by Lee’s whole army might give us a great deal of trouble. . . .

Charles Francis Adams, Jr., to his mother

H.Q. Cav’y Escort, A. of P.
Before Petersburg, August 12, 1864

My stay at these Head Quarters and my connection with the 1st Massachusetts Cavalry draws, according to all appearances, towards its close. A day or two since my commission as Lieutenant Colonel of the 5th reached me, and now I only wait for Flint’s return to get leave to go to Washington and immediately afterwards I shall join my colored brethren. . . . I am fortunately once more perfectly well; in fact I have n’t felt better for a year. Thanks to a greater degree of exercise and quinine I have completely gotten rid of my jaundice and the malaria, have a superb appetite and a sufficiency of energy.

I have n’t anything to tell you — no material even the most threadbare for a letter. We are again burned up with drouth and the dust is fetlock deep. I have given up my drills and again we listlessly pass days in camp, contending mainly with flies, looking forward to our meals and still indulging in cool pleasant evenings. In front and along the works it is the same old sky.

As soon as the heat of the day is over the sharpshooters wake up and then, all through the night, until broad day, there is the continual popping of rifles broken by the occasional booming of artillery. A few nights ago I rode out with Colonel Spaulding of the Engineers to look at our works and see the countermining operations which were going on in front of the 5th Corps. Here there is no firing going on between the pickets. At the point where the enemy was supposed to be mining there is only a narrow strip between their works and ours, and the picket line, which is immediately in front of the works, is scarcely a stone’s throw from that of the enemy. Our pickets and theirs however are on the best of terms. They use no concealment and conduct war on Christian principles. As for the enemy’s mining I do not feel much faith in that. Our countermines run the entire front of that fort down to within eighteen inches of water, but as yet no traces of mines are found.

After leaving this quiet front we rode over to the 9th Corps (Burnside), where the difference is striking and unpleasant. Here the cracking of rifles is incessant and whole brigades live under fire. As you approach the line of works through a wood, you ride through a camp every tent of which has one side entrenched —the side towards the enemy — and here chance bullets are z-i-p-p-i-n-g round always all night, and often all day as well. Just beyond these camps are the works where you find the working parties and the soldiers always close under the cover of the outer wall, as that is the only place where chance balls do not come. I can’t say that I was sorry to leave Burnside’s front, and we trotted briskly away amid the usual accompaniment of bullets rattling through the trees. All these works, immense in size and elaborately constructed, with sand-bags, gabions and fascines without number, the miles of covered way, rifle-pits and trenches, ingenious abattis, and powerful palisades, and all the rest of the engineering jargon, seem to have been built by us to be abandoned. Already our line has once been contracted and enormous works have been levelled, and now we are constructing a new interior line of defences, without stint of labor or ingenuity, in favor of which the works now constituting our front, from which the guns are already removed, are to be destroyed and we are to clew yet a few yards further away from Petersburg. From all this I draw confirmation of the inference in my last letter to London, that active operations here are over for the present. The new and interior line is probably a very powerful one, and one which a small force could hold. Two Army Corps could probably hold this line from the James River to the head waters of the Black-water, and this would leave yet three more of the Corps still here free to operate elsewhere. I doubt if we have any extensive operations in this region before the middle of September. Meanwhile Grant doubtless hopes for good news from the southwest, and with Atlanta and Mobile in our hands, we might certainly begin a fall campaign here with renewed hope. . . .

Charles Francis Adams, Jr., to his father

H.Q. Cav’y Escort, A. of P.
Before Petersburg, August 5, 1864

Physically, since I last wrote, I’m glad to say I have picked up amazingly. I have at last shaken off my jaundice and have recovered a white man’s looks, my appetite is amazing and I am building up. In fact I have weathered my danger and do not look for any further trouble. Ward Frothingham too has been sent home. His regiment was smashed all to pieces in the assault the other day. The Colonel, Gould, had a thigh shattered, the Lieutenant Colonel killed, and so on. As for Ward, it was the hardest kind of work helping him, for he could n’t help himself. Finally however he was sent down to City Point and there gave Dalton my note, and Dalton had him shipped to New York before he could make up his mind as to whether he wanted to go there or not. So he’s safe and at home.

Here since I last wrote, too, Burnside has exploded his mine and we have again just failed to take Petersburg. The papers, I see, are full of that mishap and every one is blaming every one, just as though it did any good to cry and quarrel over spilled milk. I did not see the mine exploded, though most of my officers did and they describe it as a most beautiful and striking spectacle — an immense column of debris, mixed with smoke and flame, shooting up in the form of a wheat sheaf some hundred and fifty feet, and then instantly followed by the roar of artillery. At first, and until ten o’clock, rumors came in very favorably — we had carried this and that and were advancing. At about ten I rode out to see what was going on. The fight then was pretty much over. I rode up to the parallels and dismounted and went towards the front. The heat was intense and they were bringing in the wounded, mostly blacks, in great numbers. Very little firing was going on, though occasionally shot went zipping by. Very speedily I began to be suspicious of our success. Our soldiers did n’t look or act to my mind like men who had won a victory. There was none of that elation and excitement among the wounded, none of that communicative spirit among the uninjured which always marks a success. I was very soon satisfied of this and so, after walking myself into a tremendous heat and seeing nothing but a train of wounded men, I concluded that I did n’t like the sound of bullets and so came home.

My suspicions proved correct. As you know we had been repulsed. How was it? In the papers you’ll see all kinds of stories and all descriptions of reasons, but here all seem to have settled down to certain results on which all agree, and certain others on which all quarrel. It is agreed that the thing was a perfect success, except that it did not succeed; and the only reason it did not succeed was that our troops behaved shamefully. They advanced to the crater made by the explosion and rushed into it for cover and nothing could get them out of it. These points being agreed on then begins the bickering. All who dislike black troops shoulder the blame onto them — not that I can find with any show of cause. They seem to have behaved just as well and as badly as the rest and to have suffered more severely. This Division, too, never had really been under fire before, and it was a rough breaking in for green troops of any color. The 9th Corps and Burnside came in for a good share of hard sayings, and, in fact, all round is heard moaning and wrath, and a scape-goat is wanted.

Meanwhile, as I see it, one person alone has any right to complain and that person is Grant. I should think his heart would break. He had out-generaled Lee so, he so thoroughly deserved success, and then to fail because his soldiers would n’t fight! It was too bad. All the movements I mentioned in my last turned out to be mere feints and as such completely successful. Deceived by Grant’s movement towards Malvern Hill, Lee had massed all his troops in that vicinity, so that when the mine exploded, the rebels had but three Divisions in front of the whole Army of the Potomac. Grant ordered a rapid countermarch of his cavalry from Malvern Hill to the extreme left, to outflank and attack the enemy at daylight, simultaneously with the assault in front. The cavalry did not reach here until the assault had failed. The march was difficult, but it was possible and it was not accomplished. Whose fault was this? Then came the assault, which was no assault, and once more Lee, completely outgeneraled, surprised and nearly lost, was saved by the bad behavior of our troops as in June, and on the same ground and under the same circumstances, he was almost miraculously saved by the stubborn bravery of his own. I find but one satisfaction in the whole thing. Here now, as before in June, whether he got it or no, Grant deserved success, and, where this is the case, in spite of fortune, he must ultimately win it. Twice Lee has been saved in spite of himself. Let him look to it, for men are not always lucky.

If you are curious to know where I myself place the blame, I must freely say on Burnside, and add, that in my own opinion I don’t know anything about it. For the whole thing, Burnside’s motions and activities deserve great credit. While others were lying idle, he was actively stirring round to see what he could do. The mine was his idea and his work, and he carried it through; no one but himself had any faith in it. So far all was to his credit. Then came the assault. Grant did his part of the work and deceived Lee. Burnside organized his storming column and, apparently, he could n’t have organized it worse. They say the leading brigade was chosen by lot. If so, what greater blunder could have been committed? At any rate a white brigade was put in to lead which could not have been depended on to follow. This being so, the result was what might have been expected. In such a case everything depended on the storming party; for, if they would lead, the column would follow. Volunteers might have been called for, a picked regiment might have been designated; but, no, Burnside sent in a motley crowd of white and black, heavy artillery and dismounted cavalry, and they would n’t come up to the scratch. So endeth the second lesson before Petersburg.

As to the future, expect no light from me. I do not expect that anything will be done here for six weeks to come. Grant must hold his own, defend Washington and see what Sherman can accomplish, before he really attempts anything heavy here. The news from Sherman is so good, and Hood seems so completely to be playing our game that I think the rebel strength in that region bids fair to be used up. Lee can hold us in check, but, unless we blunder egregiously, he cannot replenish his ranks, and by autumn Grant can resume operations with deadly effect from this base. This I fear is the best view which can be taken of the present attitude of affairs. We have been so unfortunate here and our military lights about Washington — Hunter, Wallace, Halleck, Sigel and the rest — have made such a mess of our affairs in their region, that I don’t see but what the army here must, for the present, be reduced to one purely of observation. . . .

As to my new regiment, I see myself gazetted but have as yet received no commission or official announcement. Meanwhile I am maturing my plans for the regiment and shall develop them in a somewhat stately paper distinguished by unusual ability even for me and addressed to Governor Andrew, the which I shall tackle as soon as I have disposed of you. For the rest, I wait here and kill time. There is nothing more for me to do here. This squadron is as contented, as well disciplined and in as good order as I know how to put it, and accordingly I must move or stand still. . . .

H.Q. Cav’y Escort, A. of P.
Before Petersburg, July 27, 1864

Though I wrote to you last week yours of the 8th inst., which has reached me since, induces me, from the extreme hilarity of its tone, to renewed efforts. What the devil’s up? What are you howling at? I never saw such a man! Has the bottom of the kettle tumbled out? That our success this campaign has not been so brilliant as it was last I shan’t dispute, but why howl out in agony and cry sauve qui peut? I see no signs that the American people and their policy are to be turned topsy-turvy just yet. Even if they are, what then? I have ever found that sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, and be today ever so black tomorrow somehow or other, all prognostications to the contrary notwithstanding, is found bearable when it comes. I am not going to trouble myself about the ways of Providence any more than I can help, and I recommend all of you to do the same. At the same time I must confess your position makes success sweeter and failure far more bitter than we feel them here. When bad news comes I like to hide my head in the trenches as much as I may.

Meanwhile of the future, here or hereabouts, I can tell you no more than I can of the future of Sherman’s operations. Here we are just where we have been so long and no one knows anything. Hancock’s Corps with two Divisions of Cavalry moved off toward Richmond last night, and we hear of some small success of theirs this morning, but no one knows why they went or what they expect to accomplish. It looks to me like a counter on Richmond for Early’s raid on Washington, but that’s a guess. You’ll know all about it before this letter reaches you. So too of the south west. If you take the Army and Navy Journal you know all that I do, but I believe the Minister objects to taking the only reliable military publication in the country, and prefers still to get his information from that uncontaminated fountain of pure lies, the correspondence of the daily press. The removal of Johnston puzzles me. I can only account for it on the supposition that he plainly told Davis that he could not undertake to endanger the existence of his army by making a stand at Atlanta and that Davis, feeling that such a stand might successfully be made, put Hood, the fighting General, in his place to try the experiment. If this is so, it is playing our game with a vengeance. One can never be certain of results in war, but fighting generals of Divisions make, as a rule, poor work of it in command of armies, and from what I know, I should say that the rebel army there stood many chances of annihilation if once opposed fairly to our Army. However this again is all guess-work. Sherman will be heard from soon enough and before this letter reaches you, with Hood and these southwestern troops opposed to him I think he will give a good account of himself.

How about this Niagara Falls peace business? Is Greeley going to steal your thunder? What’s become of Yeatman? It seems to me our Uncle Abe did Messrs. Clay and Holcombe very much as the venerable Mason did our Moncure D. Conway, of whom we have heard. Is there any revival of your negotiation? Such things seem now to be the order of the day and I shall be little surprised if you’re not intriguing again. . . .

Charles Francis Adams, Jr., to Henry Adams

H.Q. Cav’y Escort, A. of P.
July 22d, 1864

Today is my family letter day. I have only to report all quiet before Petersburg and this week, in comprehensive return for all your favors, I report that much to you. My last, I believe, was written from City Point. I came up from thence on Saturday evening last . . .

Meanwhile things here are curiously dull; there is nothing that I know of going on. Since I came up from the Point I have moved round more than formerly. Monday I went over to see Barlow and had a talk with him. He does n’t seem to lose any health in the field. Just as I was leaving his quarters I ran across General Meade and accompanied him back to Head Quarters where he summoned me to dine with him; which indeed I did, but I did n’t pick up any crumbs of learning to speak of at his table. The General’s mess consists of himself, General Humphreys and Theodore Lyman, and Meade, I noticed had not allowed anxiety or care to destroy his appetite. Wednesday I ran down to see Ned Dalton and found Henry Higginson and General Barlow there, and as Charming Clapp came up to dinner, we had quite a little Harvard re-union. George Barnard too happened in, coming down with his regiment on his way to Washington to be mustered out. The time of service being over George is going home and looks with great gusto to the exchange of “before Petersburg” for Lynn. Henry Higginson has come down to try his hand on Barlow’s staff. I have no idea that he can stand it as he is n’t at all recovered from his wounds, but it is best that he should try it on as he must resign if he can’t do duty. It is now thirteen months since he was wounded at Aldie.

After dinner I rode back with Barlow to the camp by moonlight, he indulging in his usual vein of conversation. It’s pleasant and refreshing to meet a man like Barlow among the crowds of mediocrity which make up the mass of an army. Here’s a man who goes into the army and in everything naturally recurs to first principles. The object of discipline is obedience; the end of fighting is victory, and he naturally and instinctively sweeps away all the forms, rules and traditions which, originally adopted as means to the end, here, in the hands of incompetent men, ultimately usurped the place of the ends they were calculated to secure. In every regular army this is seen: principles are lost sight of in forms. I am more disposed to regard Barlow as a military genius than any man I have yet seen. He has as yet by no means attained his growth. Should the war last and he survive, I feel very confident that he will make as great a name as any that have arisen in this war. He now contemplates going into the colored troops, raising a large corps and organizing them as an army of itself. Should he do so I shall doubtless go in with him and have a regiment of cavalry with just as much of a future before me as I show myself equal to. However I freely confess that no military promotion or success now offers much attraction to me. My present ambition is to see the war over, so that I may see my way out of the army. I am tired of the Carnival of Death. . . .

London, July 8, 1864

What do you say to the news you’ve been sending us for a week back? Grant repulsed. Sherman repulsed. Hunter repulsed and in retreat. Gold, 250. A devilish pretty list, portending, as I presume, the failure of the campaign. To read it has cost me much in the way of mental consumption, which you can figure to yourself if you like. And now what is to be the end? “Contemplate all this work of time.” We have failed, let us suppose! The financial difficulty, a Presidential election, and a disastrous campaign are three facts to be met. Not for us to meet, but for the nation, our own share being very limited. Ebbene! Dana’s idea a year ago of throwing off New England is, I suppose, no longer practicable. But what is practicable seems to be a summary ejection of us gentlemen from our places next November, and the arrival of the Democratic party in power, pledged to peace at any price. This is my interpretation of the news which now lies before us. . . .

Lucky is it for us that all Europe is now full of its own affairs. The fate of this Ministry seems to be pretty nearly decided, so far as Parliament can decide it, without an appeal to the people. The division takes place tonight and the excitement in society is tremendous. Every one who has an office, or whose family has an office, is in a state of funk at the idea of losing it, and every one who expects an office is brandishing the tomahawk with frightful yells over his trembling victim. As for the degree of principle involved, I have not yet succeeded in seeing it. The nation understands it in the same way, as a struggle by one set of incapable men to keep office, and by another set of ditto to gain it.

Society is almost silent among the hostile warriors. I breakfasted with Lord Houghton last Wednesday and what do you think was the subject of conversation? Bokhara and the inhabitants of central Asia. Some twenty prominent people discussed nothing but Bokhara, while all Europe and America are on the high road to the devil. And a delightful breakfast it was to me who am weary with long mental and concealed struggles for hope. I revelled in Tartaric steppes, and took a vivid interest in farthest Samarcand. . . .

London, July 8, 1864

Meanwhile our friends on this side are in the midst of a crisis. The failure of the Ministry to secure a settlement of the Danish question has been made the ground of a formal attack by the opposition with a view to a change of government. The debate has been going on with great vehemence ever since Monday, and it is to close tonight with a division on a motion of want of confidence. The most sanguine of the ministerial side do not now expect any majority strong enough to sustain them. They talk of two or four; but I should not wonder if it proved the other way. The result will be known in season for this steamer. The probability now is that Lord Palmerston will determine to take the sense of the country by dissolving the Parliament. This is most certainly the right course. For the present House is in no condition to uphold government of any kind. Should this prove to be the policy, the country will for the next two months go through the spasm of a vehemently contested election, almost exclusively on personal grounds. I cannot perceive that any issue has been raised on principle. If the Ministry have made mistakes in their foreign policy, they do not appear to have been such as to render a material variation from it likely, if the opposition should take their places. The dispute is all about words. Lord Russell has been rough and menacing in his tone. Admitting this to be just (and I am not prepared myself to say that he is the most soft-spoken of men), the only change demanded is a little more politeness. The benefit of this will enure to foreign countries, it is true; but I scarcely understand how it is likely to extend to events or acts. “Great Britain has no friends in the world,” people complain, who at the very same time indulge in a style of oratory towards foreign countries which goes clearly to show the reason why she has not any. If Great Britain indulges her fancy for abusing everybody it stands to reason that nobody will be grateful. The country however has no inclination on any side, as it would appear, to go further than to talk. Why then change the government, on a question of politeness? If Lord Russell has been brusque, let him amend his style and soften his manners, instead of giving place to another who will do no more.

The real difficulty is in the condition of the House of Commons itself, which furnishes no basis whatever on which a minister can do more than talk or write. If an appeal to the country should result in returning a working majority for any man or set of men, then would something substantial be gained. It is possible that Lord Palmerston’s personal popularity may secure this. He is the only really strong man in the public confidence left in England. But from what I gather, it is matter of serious doubt whether even he can do all that is needed. In the absence of any real issue, the reform bill has worked a state of the constituencies which gives no positive result to either side on a general election. If it should prove so on this occasion, then the last state of the patient will be worse than the first. . . .

London, July 1, 1864

The crisis has also passed here. The Ministry have announced that war would be inconvenient; that America is too formidable a power to have in the rear; that Germany is a bully, and Denmark a little fool; that the blame all belongs to France, and is owing to the hatred of Russia to England; that when the war is over and Denmark destroyed, Palmerston will call Parliament to know whether to send the channel fleet to the Baltic; that in short everything is in a muddle and no one knows how to get out of it except by frankly backing out and refusing to act at all. We have been immensely delighted with this utter confusion of England. There is about it so simple and undisguised confession of impotence that it almost excites pity, and would do so wholly if it were n’t that they are so ill-natured and currish in their expression of their disappointment. But it is not a little grateful to see the utter contempt felt for this country all over Europe now. The newspapers are filled with elegant extracts from French and German sources, all expressing in varied terms the opinion that the English are cowards. For my own part, the case does not seem to me to be so bad. The English are not cowards, but they have the misfortune to be damned fools, and to have the same class of men for their rulers. Once in this mire, they are cross but make the best of it, and all the contempt of Europe will be swallowed without shaking the firm conviction of the “true English gentleman,” as Kingsley calls him, that somehow or other he is right and all mankind is wrong. They will not even turn out the Ministry, it is said, and I can well believe it. But the European complication is not ended yet, and England will have to swallow more dirt before the end. What the end will be, I don’t know. But I look for a great movement towards liberalism some day. . . .