October 14th.—I was somewhat distraught, like a small Hercules twixt Vice and Virtue, or Garrick between Comedy and Tragedy, by my desire to tell Duncan the truth, and at the same time respect the feelings of a friend. There was a rabbledom of drunken men in uniforms under our windows, who resisted the patrol clearing the streets, and one fellow drew his bayonet, and, with the support of some of the citizens, said that he would not allow any regular to put a finger on him. D— said he had witnessed scenes just as bad, and talked of lanes in garrison towns in England, and street rows between soldiers and civilians; and I did not venture to tell him the scene we witnessed was the sign of a radical vice in the system of the American army, which is, I believe, incurable in these large masses. Few soldiers would venture to draw their bayonets on a patrol. If they did, their punishment would be tolerably sure and swift, but for all I knew this man would be permitted to go on his way rejoicing. There is news of two Federal reverses to-day. A descent was made on Santa Rosa Island, and Mr. Billy Wilson’s Zouaves were driven under the guns of Pickens, losing in the scurry of the night attack—as prisoner only I am glad to say —poor Major Vogdes, of inquiring memory. Rosecrans, who utterly ignores the advantages of Shaksperian spelling, has been defeated in the West; but D— is quite happy, and goes off to New York contented.
