December 1st.—A mixed party of American officers and English went to-day to the post at Great Falls, about sixteen or seventeen miles up the Potomac, and were well repaid by the charming scenery, and by a visit to an American military station in a state of nature. The captain in command told us over a drink that he was under arrest, because he had refused to do duty as lieutenant of the guard, he being a captain. “But I have written to McClellan about it,” said he, “and I’m d—d if I stay under arrest more than three days longer.” He was not aware that the General’s brother, who is a captain on his staff, was sitting beside him at the time. This worthy centurion further informed us he had shot a man dead a short time before for disobeying his orders. “That he did,” said his sympathising and enthusiastic orderly, “and there’s the weapon that done it.” The captain was a boot and shoe maker by trade, and had travelled across the isthmus before the railway was made to get orders for his boots. A hard, determined, fierce “sutor,” as near a savage as might be.
“And what will you do, captain,” asked I, “if they keep you in arrest?”
“Fight for it, sir. I’ll go straight away into Pennsylvania with my company, and we’ll whip any two companies they can send to stop us.”
Mr. Sumner paid me a visit on my return from our excursion, and seems to think everything is in the best possible state.
