August 22nd.—
“The little dogs and all,
Tray, Blanche, and Sweetheart,
See they bark at me.”
The North have recovered their wind, and their pipers are blowing with might and main. The time given them to breathe after Bull Run has certainly been accompanied with a greater development of lung and power of blowing than could have been expected. The volunteer army which dispersed and returned home to receive the Io Pæans of the North, has been replaced by better and more numerous levies, which have the strong finger and thumb of General McClellan on their windpipe, and find it is not quite so easy as it was to do as they pleased. The North, besides, has received supplies of money, and is using its great resources, by land and sea, to some purpose, and as they wax fat they kick.
A general officer said to me, “Of course you will never remain, when once all the press are down upon you. I would not take a million dollars and be in your place.” “But is what I’ve written untrue?” “God bless you! do you know in this country if you can get enough of people to start a lie about any man, he would be ruined, if the Evangelists came forward to swear the story was false. There are thousands of people who this moment believe that McDowell, who never tasted anything stronger than a water melon in all his life, was helplessly drunk at Bull’s Run. Mind what I say; they’ll run you into a mud hole as sure as you live.” I was not much impressed with the danger of my position further than that I knew there would be a certain amount of risk from the rowdyism and vanity of what even the Americans admit to be the lower orders, for which I had been prepared from the moment I had despatched my letter; but I confess I was not by any means disposed to think that the leaders of public opinion would seek the small gratification of revenge, and the petty popularity of pandering to the passions of the mob, by creating a popular cry against me. I am not aware that any foreigner ever visited the United States who was injudicious enough to write one single word derogatory to their claims to be the first of created beings, who was not assailed with the most viperous malignity and rancour. The man who says he has detected a single spot on the face of their sun should prepare his winding sheet.
The New York Times, I find, states “that the terrible epistle has been read with quite as much avidity as an average President’s message. We scarcely exaggerate the fact when we say, the first and foremost thought on the minds of a very large portion of our people after the repulse at Bull’s Run was, what will Russell say?” and then they repeat some of the absurd sayings attributed to me, who declared openly from the very first that I had not seen the battle at all, to the effect “that I had never seen such fighting in all my life, and that nothing at Alma or Inkerman was equal to it.” An analysis of the letter follows, in which it is admitted that “with perfect candour I purported to give an account of what I saw, and not of the action which I did not see,” and the writer, who is, if I mistake not, the Hon. Mr. Raymond, of the New York Times, like myself a witness of the facts I describe, quotes a passage in which I say, “There was no flight of troops, no retreat of an army, no reason for all this precipitation,” and then declares “that my letter gives a very spirited and perfectly just description of the panic which impelled and accompanied the troops from Centreville to Washington. He does not, for he cannot, in the least exaggerate its horrible disorder, or the disgraceful behaviour of the incompetent officers by whom it was aided, instead of being checked. He saw nothing whatever of the fighting, and therefore says nothing whatever of its quality. He gives a clear, fair, perfectly just and accurate, as it is a spirited and graphic account of the extraordinary scenes which passed under his observation. Discreditable as those scenes were to our army, we have nothing in connection with them whereof to accuse the reporter; he has done justice alike to himself, his subject, and the country.”
Ne nobis blandiar, I may add, that at least I desired to do so, and I can prove from Northern papers that if their accounts were true, I certainly much “extenuated and nought set down in malice”—nevertheless, Philip drunk is very different from Philip sober, frightened, and running away, and the man who attempts to justify his version to the inebriated polycephalous monarch is sure to meet such treatment as inebriated despots generally award to their censors.
