September 2nd.–It would seem as if the North were perfectly destitute of common sense. Here they are as rampant because they have succeeded with an overwhelming fleet in shelling out the defenders of some poor unfinished earthworks, on a spit of sand on the coast of North Carolina, as if they had already crushed the Southern rebellion. They affect to consider this achievement a counterpoise to Bull Run.
Surely the press cannot represent the feelings of the staid and thinking masses of the Northern States! The success is unquestionably useful to the Federalists, but it no more adds to their chances of crushing the Confederacy, than shooting off the end of an elephant’s tail contributes to the hunter’s capture of the animal.
An officious little person, who was buzzing about here as correspondent of a London newspaper, made himself agreeable by coming with a caricature of my humble self at the battle of Bull Run, in a laborious and most unsuccessful imitation of Punch, in which I am represented with rather a flattering face and figure, seated before a huge telescope, surrounded by bottles of London stout, and looking at the fight. This is supposed to be very humorous and amusing, and my good-natured friend was rather astonished when I cut it out and inserted it carefully in a scrap-book, opposite a sketch from fancy of the New York Fire Zouaves charging a battery and routing a regiment of cavalry, which appeared last week in a much more imaginative and amusing periodical, which aspires to describe with pen and pencil the actual current events of the war.
Going out for my usual ride to-day, I saw General Scott, between two aides-de-camp, slowly pacing homewards from the War Office. He is still Commander-in-Chief of the army, and affects to direct movements and to control the disposition of the troops, but a power greater than his increases steadily at General McClellan’s head-quarters. For my own part I confess that General McClellan does not appear to me a man of action, or, at least, a man who intends to act as speedily as the crisis demands. He should be out with his army across the Potomac, living among his generals, studying the composition of his army, investigating its defects, and, above all, showing himself to the men as soon afterwards as possible, if he cannot be with them at the time, in the small affairs which constantly occur along the front, and never permitting them to receive a blow without taking care that they give at least two in return. General Scott, jam fracta membra labore, would do all the work of departments and superintendence admirably well; but, as Montesquieu taught long ago, faction and intrigue are the cancers which peculiarly eat into the body politic of republics, and McClellan fears, no doubt, that his absence from the capital, even though he went but across the river, would animate his enemies to undermine and supplant him.
I have heard several people say lately, “I wish old Scott would go away,” by which they mean that they would be happy to strike him down when his back was turned, but feared his personal influence with the President and his Cabinet. Two months ago and his was the most honoured name in the States: one was sickened by the constant repetition of elaborate plans, in which the General was represented playing the part of an Indian juggler, and holding an enormous boa constrictor of a Federal army in his hands, which he was preparing to let go as soon as he had coiled it completely round the frightened Secessionist rabbit; “now none so poor to do him reverence.” Hard is the fate of those who serve republics. The officers who met the old man in the street to-day passed him by without a salute or mark of recognition, although he wore his uniform coat, with yellow lapels and yellow sash; and one of a group which came out of a restaurant close to the General’s house, exclaimed, almost in his hearing, “Old fuss-and-feathers don’t look first-rate to-day.”
In the evening I went with a Scotch gentleman, who was formerly acquainted with General McClellan when he was superintendent of the Central Illinois Railway, to his head-quarters, which are in the house of Captain Wilkes at the corner of President Square, near Mr. Seward’s, and not far from the spot where General Sickles shot down the unhappy man who had temporarily disturbed the peace of his domestic relations. The parlours were full of officers smoking, reading the papers, and writing, and after a short conversation with General Marcy, Chief of the Staff, Van Vliet, aide-de-camp of the Commander-in-Chief, led the way up-stairs to the top of the house, where we found General McClellan, just returned from a long ride, and seated in his shirt sleeves on the side of his camp-bed. He looked better than I have yet seen him, for his dress showed to advantage the powerful, compact formation of his figure, massive throat, well-set head, and muscular energy of his frame. Nothing could be more agreeable or easy than his manner. In his clear, dark-blue eye was no trace of uneasiness or hidden purpose; but his mouth, covered by a short, thick moustache, rarely joins in the smile that overspreads his face when he is animated by telling or hearing some matter of interest. Telegraph wires ran all about the house, and as we sat round the General’s table, despatches were repeatedly brought in from the Generals in the front. Sometimes McClellan laid down his cigar and went off to study a large map of the position, which was fixed to the wall close to the head of his bed; but more frequently the contents of the despatches caused him to smile or to utter some exclamation, which gave one an idea that he did not attach much importance to the news, and had not great faith in the reports received from his subordinate officers, who are always under the impression that the enemy are coming on in force.
It is plain the General has got no high opinion of volunteer officers and soldiers. In addition to unsteadiness in action, which arises from want of confidence in the officers as much as from any other cause, the men labour under the great defect of exceeding rashness, a contempt for the most ordinary precautions, and a liability to unaccountable alarms and credulousness of false report; but, admitting all these circumstances, McClellan has a soldier’s faith in gros uataillons and sees no doubt of ultimate success in a military point of view, provided the politicians keep quiet, and, charming men as they are, cease to meddle with things they don’t understand. Although some very good officers have deserted the United States army and are now with the Confederates, a very considerable majority of West Point officers have adhered to the Federals. I am satisfied, by an actual inspection of the lists, that the Northerners retain the same preponderance in officers who have received a military education, as they possess in wealth and other means, and resources for carrying on the war.
The General consumes tobacco largely, and not only smokes cigars, but indulges in the more naked beauties, of a quid. From tobacco we wandered to the Crimea, and thence went half round the world, till we halted before the Virginian watch-fires, which these good volunteers will insist on lighting under the very noses of the enemy’s pickets; nor was it till late we retired, leaving the General to his well-earned repose.
General McClellan took the situation of affairs in a very easy and philosophical spirit. According to his own map and showing, the enemy not only overlapped his lines from the batteries by which they blockaded the Potomac on the right, to their extreme left on the river above Washington, but have established themselves in a kind of salient angle on his front, at a place called Munson’s Hill, where their flag waved from entrenchments within sight of the Capitol. However, from an observation he made, I imagined that the General would make an effort to recover his lost ground; at any rate, beat up the enemy’s quarters, in order to see what they were doing; and he promised to send an orderly round and let me know; so, before I retired, I gave orders to my groom to have “Walker” in readiness.