Following the American Civil War Sesquicentennial with day by day writings of the time, currently 1863.

Post image for “ ‘Burn it, bum it to the ground!’ She ran to the yard to know the cause; instantly this lonely woman was surrounded by a lawless, shouting soldiery, each with a burning torch, revealing, by its lurid and fitful light, a countenance almost demoniac.”—Diary of a Southern Refugee, Judith White McGuire.

“ ‘Burn it, bum it to the ground!’ She ran to the yard to know the cause; instantly this lonely woman was surrounded by a lawless, shouting soldiery, each with a burning torch, revealing, by its lurid and fitful light, a countenance almost demoniac.”—Diary of a Southern Refugee, Judith White McGuire.

August 26, 2011

Diary of a Southern Refugee During the War by Judith White McGuire,The American Civil War

Norwood, Near Berryville, August 26.—On a visit of a few days to our relative, Dr. M. The people of this neighbourhood occupied as they are in the one I left. All hearts and hands seem open to our army. Four heavily laden wagons have left Berryville within a few days, for the hospitals below. We are all anxious about Western Virginia, of which we can hear so little. General Lee and General Floyd are there, and if they can only have men and ammunition enough we have nothing to fear.

 

The army in Fairfax seems quiet. Colonel Stuart, with his cavalry, has driven the enemy back, and taken possession of “Chestnut Hill” as head-quarters. There they are overlooking Washington, Georgetown, and our neighbourhood, all bristling with cannon, to prevent their nearer approach. Some of those young men can almost point from the hills on which they are encamped, to chimneys of their own firesides, the portals of their own homes. The woods are cleared away for miles; even the yard trees are gone, leaving the houses in bold relief, with nothing to shade, nothing to obscure them. I do pity those who were obliged to stay in Southern homes, with Southern hearts, surrounded by bitter and suspicious enemies. My old friend Mrs. D. is sometimes in their lines, sometimes in ours. When our men are near her, they are fed from her table, and receive all manner of kindness from her hands. Some of my nephews have been invited to her table, and treated as her relations. When they entered her house she advanced towards them with outstretched hands. “You don’t know me, but I knew your mother, father, and all your relations; and besides, I am connected with you, and you must come to my house while near me, as to that of an old friend.” Nothing could be more grateful to a soldier far away from home and friends. But these were her bright moments. She has had many trials while in the enemy’s lines. Her husband and grown son are in the Confederate service; she has sent her two young daughters to her friends in the lower country, and has remained as the protector of her property, with her two sons of eight and ten, as her companions. On one occasion her servant was driving the cows from her yard to be milked; from very loneliness she called to the servant to remain and milk them where they were; the very tinkling of the cow-bell was pleasant to her. It was scarcely done when a posse of soldiers came with their bayonets gleaming in the moonlight, and demanded, “Why did you have a bell rung in your yard this evening?” “Do you mean, why did the cow-bell ring? Because the cow shook her head while she was being milked.” “But you don’t have the cows milked in the yard every evening. It was a signal to the rebels—you know it was—and your house shall be burnt for it.” She then had to plead her innocence to save her house, which they pretended not to believe until the servants were called up to prove her statements. They then, with threats and curses, went off. Another night she carried a candle from room to room to seek some missing article. In a short time several soldiers were seen running to her house with lighted torches, yelling “Burn it, bum it to the ground!” She ran to the yard to know the cause; instantly this lonely woman was surrounded by a lawless, shouting soldiery, each with a burning torch, revealing, by its lurid and fitful light, a countenance almost demoniac. They seemed perfectly lawless, and without a leader, for each screamed out, “We are ordered to burn your house.” “Why?” said she. “Because you have signal-lights at your windows for the d__d rebels.” She immediately suspected that no such order had been given, and summoning firmness of voice and manner to her aid, she ordered them off, saying that she should send for an officer. They did go, uttering imprecations on her defenceless head. But a still more trying scene occurred a short time ago. Our soldiers were surrounding her house, when Colonel Stuart sent off a raiding party. During that night the Yankees advanced, and our men retired. The Yankees at once heard that the raiders were out; but in what direction was the question. They came up to her house, and knowing the mother too well to attempt to extort any thing from her, ordered the little boys to tell them in what direction Colonel Stuart had gone. The boys told them that they could tell nothing. Threats followed; finally handcuffs and irons for the ankles were brought. Still those little heroes stood, the one as pale as ashes, the other with his teeth clenched over his under lip, until the blood was ready to gush out, but not one word could be extorted, until, with a feeling of hopelessness in their efforts, they went off, calling them cursed little rebels, etc. The mother saw all this, and stood it unflinchingly—poor thing! It is harrowing to think of her sufferings. Yet, if she comes away, her house will be sacked, and perhaps burnt.

 

We are sometimes alarmed by reports that the enemy is advancing upon Winchester; but are enabled to possess our souls in patience, and hope that all may be well. I see that they are encroaching upon the Northern Neck. I trust they may be repulsed from that fair land.

Post image for Tygart’s Valley, near Cheat Mountain Pass.—Rutherford B. Hayes

Tygart’s Valley, near Cheat Mountain Pass.—Rutherford B. Hayes

August 26, 2011

Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes

Monday evening, August 26.— Marched today up the beautiful valley, “Tygart’s Valley” I believe, to this pretty camp in the hills, eighteen miles. Saw our general. About forty-five, a middle-sized, good-looking man, educated at West Point. An army man, good sense, good talker—General Reynolds. Oh, what a lovely spot!

_______

August 26, 1861.

DEAR UNCLE:—We are camped somewhere near, I think, the head of Tygart’s Valley, near Cheat Mountain Pass. Several regiments are in sight, and the enemy under Lee so near that our outposts have fights with his daily. We are under a capital general, and are fast getting ready. I think we are safe; if not, we shall be within a very short time. We expect to stay here until we or the enemy are whipped, or back out for fear of a whipping—probably weeks.

We are in [a] lovely little valley on a fine clear trout stream, with high mountains on all sides and large trees over us. A perfect camp, perfectly protected by entrenchments for miles up the valley, pickets and scouts in all directions, etc., etc. A telegraph finished to headquarters of our general from General Rosecrans’ at Clarksburg, and rapid mail carriers daily to the same place. For instance, your letter of the 19th was handed to me at my tent by the courier within half an hour after our arrival here.

Glad Fanny is with you. Lee will not whip us unless we attack him with a force too small. If he attacks us, we are the best off. The postage stamps are all gone.

Sincerely,

R. B. HAYES.

I got four Fremont Journals. Much obliged.

S. BIRCHARD.

_______

SOMEWHERE IN TYGART’S VALLEY, NEAR CHEAT

MOUNTAIN PASS, VIRGINIA,

August 26, Monday evening, 8:30

P.M., after a march of eighteen miles, 1861.

DEAREST:—You will think me insane, writing so often and always with the same story: Delighted with scenery and pleasant excitement.

We are camped tonight in a valley surrounded by mountains on a lovely stream under great trees. With the Third Ohio, Thirteenth Indiana, one-half of McCook’s Ninth and the Michigan artillery, which Mother remembers passed our house one Sunday about the last of May, and McMullen’s Battery, all in sight. Our General Reynolds makes a good impression. We are disposed to love him and trust him. We expect to remain here and hereabouts until the enemy, which is just over the mountain, either drives us out, which I think he can’t do, or until we are strong enough to attack him. A stay of some weeks, we suppose.

What a lovely valley! Joe and I will always stick by Ohio River water. It must be in the summer chiefly made up of these mountain streams than which nothing can be purer. Our mails will come here daily. I got a letter from Uncle delivered at my tent within half an hour after it was up, dated 19th and directed as all letters should be, Clarksburg.

We sent back our band to escort in the Germans who were three hours behind us. I built a bridge for them, etc., etc. How polite they were. We like them so much.

Affectionately,

R. B. HAYES.

Have the daily Commercial sent me directed, “Maj. R. B. Hayes, 23d Ohio Regiment, Clarksburg.”

MRS. HAYES.

Post image for Rebel War Clerk

Rebel War Clerk

August 26, 2011

A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, By John Beauchamp Jones

AUGUST 26TH.—What a number of cavalry companies are daily tendered in the letters received at this department. Almost invariably they are refused; and really it is painful to me to write these letters. This government must be aware, from the statistics of the census, that the South has quite as many horses as the North, and twice as many good riders. But for infantry, the North can put three men in the field to our one. Ten thousand mounted men, on the border of the enemy’s country, would be equal to 30,000 of the enemy’s infantry; not in combat: but that number would be required to watch and guard against the inroads of 10,000 cavalry. It seems to me that we are declining the only proper means of equalizing the war. But it is my duty to obey, and not to deliberate.

Post image for Mar Chesnut’s Diary: “Why do you write in your diary at all,” some one said to me, “if, as you say, you have to contradict every day what you wrote yesterday?”

Mar Chesnut’s Diary: “Why do you write in your diary at all,” some one said to me, “if, as you say, you have to contradict every day what you wrote yesterday?”

August 26, 2011

A Diary From Dixie by Mary Boykin Miller Chesnut.,The American Civil War

August 26th.—The Terror has full swing at the North now. All the papers favorable to us have been suppressed. How long would our mob stand a Yankee paper here? But newspapers against our government, such as the Examiner and the Mercury flourish like green bay-trees. A man up to the elbows in finance said to-day: “Clayton’s story is all nonsense. They do sometimes pay out two millions a week; they paid the soldiers this week, but they don’t pay the soldiers every week.” “Not by a long shot,” cried a soldier laddie with a grin.

“Why do you write in your diary at all,” some one said to me, “if, as you say, you have to contradict every day what you wrote yesterday?” “Because I tell the tale as it is told to me. I write current rumor. I do not vouch for anything.”

We went to Pizzini’s, that very best of Italian confectioners. From there we went to Miss Sally Tompkins’s hospital, loaded with good things for the wounded. The men under Miss Sally’s kind care looked so clean and comfortable—cheerful, one might say. They were pleasant and nice to see. One, however, was dismal in tone and aspect, and he repeated at intervals with no change of words, in a forlorn monotone: “What a hard time we have had since we left home.” But nobody seemed to heed his wailing, and it did not impair his appetite.

At Mrs. Toombs’s, who was raging; so anti-Davis she will not even admit that the President is ill. “All humbug.” “But what good could pretending to be ill do him? ” “That reception now, was not that a humbug? Such a failure. Mrs. Reagan could have done better than that.”

Mrs. Walker is a Montgomery beauty, with such magnificent dresses. She was an heiress, and is so dissatisfied with Richmond, accustomed as she is to being a belle under different conditions. As she is as handsome and well dressed as ever, it must be the men who are all wrong.

“Did you give Lawrence that fifty-dollar bill to go out and change it?” I was asked. “Suppose he takes himself off to the Yankees. He would leave us with not too many fifty-dollar bills.” He is not going anywhere, however. I think his situation suits him. That wadded belt of mine, with the gold pieces quilted in, has made me ashamed more than once. I leave it under my pillow and my maid finds it there and hangs it over the back of a chair, in evidence as I reenter the room after breakfast. When I forget and leave my trunk open, Lawrence brings me the keys and tells me, “You oughten to do so, Miss Mary.” Mr. Chesnut leaves all his little money in his pockets, and Lawrence says that’s why he can’t let any one but himself brush Mars Jeems’s clothes.

A Diary of American Events.–August 26, 1861

Post image for A Diary of American Events.–August 26, 1861

August 26, 2011

The American Civil War,The Rebellion Record—A Diary of American Events; by Frank Moore

August 26.—The Eighteenth regiment of Massachusetts Volunteers, under the command of Colonel James Barnes, of Springfield, left their camp at Readville, near Dedham, this afternoon for the seat of war. The regiment numbers eight hundred and seventy men, but will be recruited to one thousand and forty within a few weeks. They are uniformed in the conventional blue and gray of Massachusetts, armed with Springfield muskets of 1842, and fully equipped. They have camp equipage, company wagons and ambulances, and sixty horses, a band of twenty-five pieces enlisted for the war, twenty-five thousand rounds of ball cartridges, and twenty-five thousand rounds of buckshot, and, in fact, all the paraphernalia of war ready to fit them for immediate service in the field.

Of the officers, many are specially qualified for their positions. Col. Barnes is distinguished for having been in the same class with Jeff. Davis, at West Point, graduating A one, when Jeff, was No. twenty-seven, in a class of thirty one. Lieut.-Col. Ingraham was in the Massachusetts Fourth, stationed at Fortress Monroe. Major Haves is a graduate of Harvard College, and quite popular. Adjutant Hodge was an officer of the Massachusetts Fifth, and distinguished himself at Bull Run, saving the life of Col. Lawrence. Surgeon Smith was educated in Paris, and was connected with Major Cobb’s battery. Other officers of the regiment have seen active service. Most of the men are farmers and mechanics, of moderate means, excellent health, and unwavering devotion to the cause of the Union.—N. Y. Times, August 28.

—A Correspondent of the Philadelphia Inquirer gives an extended account of a visit of the privateer “Sumter ” to Puerto Cabello, together with a copy of a letter from Raphael Semmes, her commander, to the governor of that place.—(Doc. 9.)

—A Battle occurred at Summersville,[1] in Western Virginia, this morning. The Seventh Ohio regiment, Colonel Tyler, was surrounded whilst at breakfast, and attacked on both flanks and in the front simultaneously. The national forces immediately formed for battle and fought bravely, though they saw but little chance of success. The rebels proving too powerful, Col. Tyler sent forward to the baggage train, which was coming up three miles distant, and turned it back toward Gauley Bridge, which place it reached in safety.

Companies B, C, and I suffered most severely. They particularly were in the hottest of the fight, and finally fought their way, through fearful odds, making great havoc in the enemy’s forces. The rebel force consisted of three thousand infantry, four hundred cavalry, and ten guns. The Union forces scattered, after cutting their way through the enemy, but soon formed again and fired, but received no reply or pursuit from the enemy. Not over two hundred were missing, out of nine hundred engaged. The rebel loss was fearful. Lieut.-Col. Creighton captured the rebels’ colors and two prisoners. The following is a list of national officers known to be killed: Captain Dyer, Company D, of Painesville; Captain Shurtleff, Company C, of Oberlin; Captain Sterling, Company I; Adjutant Deforest, of Cleveland; Lieutenant Charles Warrent; Sergeant-Major King, of Warren. The field-officers are all safe.

—The Twenty-fifth regiment of Indiana Volunteers left Evansville for St. Louis, Mo.— Louisville Journal, August 28.

—Henry Wilson, Senator from Massachusetts, was commissioned to organize a regiment of infantry, with a battery of artillery and a company of sharpshooters attached. In his call he asks the loyal young men of Massachusetts, who fully comprehend the magnitude of the contest for the unity and existence of the Republic, and the preservation of Democratic institutions in America, to inscribe their names upon the rolls of his regiment, and to leave their homes and their loved ones, and follow our flag to the field.

—The War Department issued an important order, prohibiting all communication, verbally or by printing or telegraph, respecting the operations of military movements, either by land or sea, or relating to the troops, camps, arsenals, intrenchments, or military affairs, within any of the military districts, by which information shall be given to the enemy, under the penalty prescribed by the Fifty-seventh Article of War, which is death, or such other punishment as a court-martial shall impose.—(Doc. 11.)

—The Postmaster-General of the United States, acting under the proclamation of the President interdicting commercial intercourse with the seceded States, directed the postal agents of the Government to put an end to transmission of letters to the seceded States, by the arrest of any express agent or other persons who shall hereafter receive letters to be carried to or from these States.—(Doc. 12.)

—Captain Foote was ordered to the command of the United States naval forces on the Western waters—namely, the Mississippi, Missouri, and Ohio rivers.—N. Y. Herald, August 27.

—A naval and military expedition sailed from Fortress Monroe, under the joint command of Commodore Stringham and Major-General Butler. It consisted of the frigates Minnesota and Wabash, the sloop-of-war Pawnee, gunboats Monticello, Harriet Lane, and Quaker City, with numerous transports.—See Aug. 29.

—A Camp of instruction at Scarsdale, Westchester County, N. Y., was opened under command of Brigadier-General E. L. Viele. The camp is about seventy acres in extent, situated on an upland which gradually slopes toward the Bronx River, where there is excellent bathing. All regiments and companies recruited, and not imperatively needed at Washington, as fast as they are sworn in, will be sent to this camp, and there subjected to the most thorough drill and discipline. General Viele has adopted stringent and wholesome regulations for the government of his camp. All officers are required to stay in camp, and put up with soldier’s fare, instead of dissipating their time in the city. No officer will be allowed to wear the insignia of rank until he is sworn in. All the other rules in use among the regular service, for the government of camps, will be enforced at Scarsdale. The name of the new encampment is “Camp Howe.”—N. Y. Commercial, August 27.

—Colonel Jones, of the Fourth Alabama regiment, died at Orange Court House, Va., from wounds received in the battle of Bull Bun.

[1] Summersville is the county-seat of Nicholas County, the next eastt of Kanawha County, and is about fifty miles from Charleston, the central position of the Kanawha Valley. It is about twenty-five miles from Gauley Bridge, and up the Gauley River.

Post image for Downing’s Civil War Diary.–Alexander G. Downing.

Downing’s Civil War Diary.–Alexander G. Downing.

August 25, 2011

Diary of Alexander G. Downing; Company E, Eleventh Iowa Infantry

Sunday, 25th—I stayed over night at Sparks’ and attended meeting at the grove again this morning. We had a basket dinner at noon. At the afternoon service the Lord’s Supper was observed. After the meeting we started for home, a distance of eleven miles.

Post image for Hancock’s Diary.–Richard R. Hancock, Second Tennessee Cavalry.

Hancock’s Diary.–Richard R. Hancock, Second Tennessee Cavalry.

August 25, 2011

Hancock’s Diary: or, A History of The Second Tennessee Cavalry.–Richard R. Hancock.

Wednesday, 21st.– McNairy moved his battalion from Camp Schuyler, about thirty miles north, to Huntsville, the county seat of Scott County. This was the day of the noted “Big August” freshet. It rained so much that our wagon train did not get to Huntsville until next day. We took-shelter in the court-house.

Companies A and D were detached on the 25th and sent back to Camp Schuyler.

Post image for England and the cotton question.–Adams Family Letters; Charles Francis Adams, Jr., to his brother in London, Henry Adams

England and the cotton question.–Adams Family Letters; Charles Francis Adams, Jr., to his brother in London, Henry Adams

August 25, 2011

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

 

Quincy, Sunday, August 25, 1861

In my letter I begged you to go to work and try to make the two countries understand each other, for to my eye our foreign relations look very formidable. Why, when England and France are collecting fleets in our southern waters, do we all of a sudden hear rumors of a joint Mexican protectorate? It would be a blessing to mankind, but how will it complicate our relations? This cotton question is beginning to pinch and soon, if ever, if you have any desire to be useful to your country, backed by any energy, you can be useful where you are.

In my letter I asked you to touch England through her pocket. For some time past I have been turning over in my mind an elaborate article on this cotton supply question, but necessarily to be of any good to any one it must be directed more to English eyes than to ours. I touched on it in my last letter, and now I should like to hand it over to you, to see if you can do anything with it. I would write it for the Edinburgh or some really influential review or magazine, but to have effect it should appear in November, when the cotton-shoe will begin to pinch dreadfully, and I would force it into print by laying the plan of it before Mr. Motley or the Governor, or any other person likely to have influence on editors. That done throw your soul into your work and write as if you meant what you said. You always affect in writing too much calmness and quaint philosophy. That will come to you in time, but you do it now at the price of that fresh enthusiasm which is the charm of young writers. If you write now, write as if you were pleading a cause and too much interested to be affected. Throw your soul into your work and say what you feel. If you don’t check it, your mannerism will ruin your style in less than five years.

 

However now for the subject. The books you ought to review, or rather hang your subject on, are Mann’s Manual of Cotton, a book of about one hundred pages; the third annual report of the Manchester Cotton Supply Association and the numbers for May and June of the Cotton Supply Reporter of Manchester, and any new book dealing of the troubles in this country. If you accept the subject I have many curious facts collected, which I will send you at once. Start at once with the paradox that, instead of desiring to break this blockade, England should pray it might last for two years and if necessary assist in enforcing it, as if enforced its inevitable result must be, after one or at most two years of high prices, to forever break down the price of cotton to a reasonable profit over the cost of its cheapest possible production. This opens the whole question of supply. Two things are necessary to the production of cotton — an abundance of labor and a cotton soil. Look into the question of soil first. A semi-tropical heat, with a distribution of rain, are the only essentials. India has not the last and will not do; but Central and South America, all Africa (which is not desert), Australia and the Fiji Islands are better than our cotton states and need only organized labor. This with all the necessary material of ships, channels of trade, custom and experience, our planters have to such a degree that while they would furnish a fair supply of cotton on moderate terms, they could kill competition. Now is England’s chance to free herself from what has been her terror for years. In India, in Egypt in Abyssinia and in South Africa, there is an unlimited amount of cotton land of the finest quality and labor is abundant, costing almost nothing, but unorganized. Two years’ competition will organize it and once organized it can sell the South. In Australia, the South Sea islands and Central America, there is no labor and here the cooley question rises. Properly regulated the trade would be a blessing, for the Chinese amalgamates and California is in point as well as Dana’s reflections on Cuba. The books I have mentioned will give you all the information necessary on these points. This would bring cotton down to the cost, with a profit, of its production in cheap labor countries, say three pence a pound. But it would also lead to immense indirect advantages. As a missionary scheme Africa would be opened up and Livingstone’s discoveries made of use; slavery in America would be killed and the slave-trade closed for ever, as the African would be more useful at home than abroad. You will find in the first few pages of a new book called Social Statics more curious facts and reflections on England’s efforts at the suppression of the slavetrade, and this leads to the amount yearly expended in its suppression in this way, and which the consequent withdrawal of the fleet would save that government, and the amount England could thus afford to pay to promote the enterprise. Finally it would open the untold tropical fertility of Africa to the commerce of the world and these advantages cannot be estimated. Thus cotton would be produced on both sides of the equator all the year round in unlimited quantities, and England would have by two years’ suffering cut the meshes which she could never have broken.

On the other hand England breaks the blockade, or the South is victorious, England may then as well hug her chains, for she must wear them. The Southern confederacy will be aggressive and more slaves and more cotton will be the cry. In spite of England the slave-trade will flourish and their system will spread over Mexico and Central America. Then with the advantages of their organization, slave labor will win the day and England may look for competition in vain. The cotton monopoly will stifle her in the end. They will pretend in Parliament that the recognition of the Confederate States will not extend the area of slavery and all that humbug. Expose this, for it will be a victory of slavery. Recognition will mean war and the prostration at the feet of slavery of free society in America. England can do this if she chooses, but let her not deceive herself and let the results of her action be patent.

Finally the importance of this struggle cannot be overestimated. On the inviolability of the blockade and the consequent cotton pressure throughout the world hangs the destruction of American slavery, the eternal suppression of the slave-trade, the emancipation of England from a thraldom under which her great industrial interest has groaned for fifty years, and finally the civilization and awakening from Barbarism of the great continent of Africa. Even America, deprived of her monopoly, would reap advantage from the result, and this I tried to show in my article in the Atlantic of last April. Are not these results worth the agony of two years of half labor in Lancashire? Are they not worth fighting for? Can England hesitate as to which side her interest favors — as to what course she will adopt?

Here is a general sketch of my idea. I think it would be of service in England and if written as a man should write who is writing for his country at such a time as this, it would surely command attention. Any assistance I can give you I gladly will; but I earnestly beg you, even if this subject does not please you, to make yourself useful in your present position in some way of this kind. You can’t tell how much effect here a sympathetic word from England has now, and you can be of the greatest use if you only will. . . .

Post image for Horatio Nelson Taft

Horatio Nelson Taft

August 25, 2011

Diary of US patent clerk Horatio Nelson Taft.

SUNDAY 25

Went to church this morning with Julia & Brownson. The day has been delightful, quite a show of soldiers up 14th St., Infantry, Cavalry & Artillery of the Regular Army with a fine Band and Drum Corps. A long train of Army wagons also passed the house. Mr B & wife [Mrs Taft] went to church in the afternoon. Walked down to Lafayette Square and was awhile at Willards with Brownson, not much of a crowd there tonight. Saw Col Clark and Col Chambers, Hon Ira Harris there. Came home 1/2 past nine.

______

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.

Post image for William Howard Russell’s Diary.—Navy Department.—A ride to camps on outskirts of Washington.

William Howard Russell’s Diary.—Navy Department.—A ride to camps on outskirts of Washington.

August 25, 2011

My Diary North and South - William Howard Russell

August 25th.—I visited the Navy Department, which is a small red-brick building two storeys high, very plain and even humble. The subordinate departments are conducted in rooms below stairs. The executive are lodged in the rooms which line both sides of the corridor above. The walls of the passage are lined with paintings in oil and water colours, engravings and paintings in the worst style of art. To the latter considerable interest attaches, as they are authentic likenesses of naval officers who gained celebrity in the wars with Great Britain—men like Perry, McDonough, Decatur, and Hull, who, as the Americans boast, was “the first man who compelled a British frigate of greater force than his own to strike her colours in fair fight.” Paul Jones was not to be seen, but a drawing is proudly pointed to of the attack of the American fleet on Algiers as a proof of hatred to piracy, and of the prominent part taken by the young States in putting an end to it in Europe. In one room are several swords, surrendered by English officers in the single frigate engagements, and the duplicates of medals, in gold and silver, voted by Congress to the victors. In Lieutenant Wise’s room, there are models of the projectiles, and a series of shot and shell used in the navy, or deposited by inventors. Among other relics was the flag of Captain Ward’s boat just brought in which was completely riddled by the bullet marks received in the ambuscade in which that officer was killed, with nearly all of his boat’s crew, as they incautiously approached the shore of the Potomac, to take off a small craft placed there to decoy them by the Confederates. My business was to pave the way for a passage on board a steamer, in case of any naval expedition starting before the army was ready to move, but all difficulties were at once removed by the promptitude and courtesy of Mr. Fox, the Assistant-Secretary, who promised to give me an order for a passage whenever I required it. The extreme civility and readiness to oblige of all American officials, high and low, from the gate-keepers and door porters up to the heads of departments, cannot be too highly praised, and it is ungenerous to accept the explanation offered by an English officer to whom I remarked the circumstance that it is due to the fact that each man is liable to be turned out at the end of four years, and therefore makes all the friends he can.

In the afternoon I rode out with Captain Johnson, through some charming woodland scenery on the outskirts of Washington, by a brawling stream, in a shady little ravine, that put me in mind of the Dargle. Our ride led us into the camps, formed on the west of Georgetown, to cover the city from the attacks of an enemy advancing along the left bank of the Potomac, and in support of several strong forts and earthworks placed on the heights. One regiment consists altogether of Frenchmen—another is of Germans—in a third I saw an officer with a Crimean and Indian medal on his breast, and several privates with similar decorations. Some of the regiments were on parade, and crowds of civilians from Washington were enjoying the novel scene, and partaking of the hospitality of their friends. One old lady, whom I have always seen about the camps, and who is a sort of ancient heroine of Saragossa, had an opportunity of being useful. The 15th Massachusetts, a fine-looking body of men, had broken up camp, and were marching off to the sound of their own voices chanting “Old John Brown,” when one of the enormous trains of baggage waggons attached to them was carried off by the frightened mules, which probably had belonged to Virginian farmers, and one of the soldiers, in trying to stop it, was dashed to the ground and severely injured. The old lady was by his side in a moment, and out came her flask of strong waters, bandages, and medical comforts and apparatus. “It’s well I’m here’ for this poor Union soldier; I’m sure I always have something to do in these camps.” On my return late, there was a letter on my table requesting me to visit General McClellan, but it was then too far advanced to avail myself of the invitation, which was only delivered after I left my lodgings.

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