August 8th.—I had arranged to go with Mr. Olmsted and Mr. Ritchie to visit the hospitals, but the heat was so intolerable, we abandoned the idea till the afternoon, when we drove across the long bridge and proceeded to Alexandria. The town, which is now fully occupied by military, and is abandoned by the respectable inhabitants, has an air, owing to the absence of women and children, which tells the tale of a hostile occupation. In a large building, which had once been a school, the wounded of Bull Bun were lying, not uncomfortably packed, nor unskilfully cared for, and the arrangements were, taken altogether, creditable to the skill and humanity of the surgeons. Close at hand was the church in which George Washington was wont in latter days to pray, when he drove over from Mount Vernon—further on, Marshal House, where Ellsworth was shot by the Virginian landlord, and was so speedily avenged. A strange strain of thought was suggested, by the rapid grouping of incongruous ideas, arising out of the proximity of these scenes. As one of my friends said, “I wonder what Washington would do if he were here now—and how he would act if he were summoned from that church to Marshall House or to this hospital?” The man who uttered these words was not either of my companions, but wore the shoulder-straps of a Union officer. “Stranger still,” said I, “would it be to speculate on the thoughts and actions of Napoleon in this crisis, if he were to wake up and see a Prince of his blood escorted by Federal soldiers to the spot where the troops of the Southern States had inflicted on them a signal defeat, in a land where the nephew who now sits on the throne of France has been an exile.” It is not quite certain that many Americans understand who Prince Napoleon is, for one of the troopers belonging to the escort which took him out from Alexandria declared positively he had ridden with the Emperor. The excursion is swallowed, but not well-digested. In Washington the only news to-night is, that a small privateer from Charleston, mistaking the St. Lawrence for a merchant vessel, fired into her and was at once sent to Mr. Davy Jones by a rattling broadside. Congress having adjourned, there is but little to render Washington less uninteresting than it must be in its normal state.
The truculent and overbearing spirit which arises from the uncontroverted action of democratic majorities developes itself in the North, where they have taken to burning newspaper offices and destroying all the property belonging to the proprietors and editors. These actions are a strange commentary on Mr. Seward’s declaration “that no volunteers are to be refused because they do not speak English, inasmuch as the contest for the Union is a battle of the free men of the world for the institutions of self-government.”
