A Waif from Washington: July 25, 1861

Source: The Pacific Commercial Advertiser. Honolulu: September 26, 1861.

July 25, 1861.

A Waif from Washington

MY DEAR COMMERCIAL: A greater contrast can hardly be imagined in that experienced by your humble Bay State correspondent in his abrupt transition from the quiet rural scenes of Westboro’ to those of this great Babel of excitement. There, an industrious people were pursuing their peaceful avocations, and though all were interested in the war, and men discussed its progress and aspects as they sharpen their scythes, or leaned on their hoes, or rested under the trees at their “nooning,” and though many a heart was heavy, and the “unbidden tear” started to many an eye as they thought of their boys who had “listed,” and were exposed to its dangers, yet the village was so far away from the scene of strife that hardly seemed a reality.

The occasional stir created in the center of the town, as a regiment was rapidly whirled through on the railroad, and the excitement caused by the departure of our noble company of rifles, the captain of which was the Methodist minister of the little Society here, who, from motives of pure patriotism, has taken up the sword, but without laying down the Bible, have shown us more of the pomp and circumstance, than of the horrors of this fearful strife. Here, we are in the very focus of excitement. The broad avenues of this metropolis are constantly glittering with bayonets and resounding to the heavy tread of armed men, the streams of martial music, and the rumbling of artillery rhetoric and army wagons, and within the last few sad days, with ambulances filled with the wounded and dying victims of the bloody struggles of Thursday and Sunday, at Bull Run.

Last Monday was the most gloomy day ever seen in Washington. The intense anxiety of the day previous, as the heavy cannonaiding, which was distinctly heard, told of the bloody battle which was taking place, had given way to a feeling of satisfaction and relief as the reports came from the field, that “the three batteries of Bull Run were taken,” and that our troops were still advancing. The Secessionists in the Washington, of whom there are large numbers, were blue and dispirited; the Unionists work jubilant. But before midnight came the avant couriers of the flying troops with the startling tidings of the utter rout of our forces, and from that time till late on Monday, the stream of fugitives from the bloody field came pouring in, each with his tale of horror. Such a scene of confusion and excitement, I never before witnessed. 

Pennsylvania avenue was crowded with people; begrimmed and bloodstained soldiers, exhausted, lying on the sidewalk or telling their exaggerated stories of temper to a crowd of eager listeners; citizens trying to learn the truth, which was buried and amidst the mass of rumors and falsehood. Here and there, the glistening eye and triumphant expression revealed the sympathizer with the rebels, though none were rash enough to avow their sentiments in the midst of such an exasperated mob. 

As the day wore on, and people learned that the panic and rout had been continued to but one portion of our army, and that our men had bravely fought, until, exhausted, they were overpowered by fresh troops, the panic began to subside, and men took fresh courage. There was no necessity for the panic and rout of our troops. The men were tired and hungry, and in no condition to cope with the fresh troops of Johnson, who reinforced the wavering column of the rebels at this critical juncture, and turned the tide of victory.

But the panic, like that which seized a division of the French army at Solferino, was almost accidental in its origin, and might easily have been checked at the outset. Our inexperienced officers, however have not foreseen the possibility of such an occurrence, and the stream swelled and rushed on till it burst all barriers and carried along everything in its course. The rebels had suffered too severely themselves to be inclined to follow up their advantage, and thus lost the finest opportunity that will probably be offered them during this war to achieve a decided victory, and strike a heavy blow at the Unionists. 

Gen. McClellan, who has been ordered by Scott to take command of the Army of the Potomac, taking a soldier’s view of this disaster, says, “it was a bloody fight, but a splendid reconnaissance to me,” and there is no doubt that its lessons have been well learned, and will be made available in the next advance of our troops. 

One of the most fearful sites I ever saw, was an attempt on Tuesday to murder some prisoners taken at the lake the battle. They were being marched to the Guard House, by a file of regulars, when the excited mob of maddened and drunken soldiers, principally the Fire Zouaves, which had been surrounding them, demanded that they should be given up to their tender mercies. Their yells for vengeance on these helpless prisoners were fearful, and seemed to like the howlings of a pack of wolves for their prey. The soldiers finding it they could not protect them, but were likely to be overpowered, thrust the prisoners into a narrow passage, and with charged bayonets withstood the crowd of infuriated demons, until a squadron of cavalry, which had been send for, swept down the street, and with drawn sabers scattered the mob, and rescued the prisoners from their perilous position.

Washington is one vast camp, and its environs are white with tents; droves of horses and mules, and trains of army wagons are constantly passing through the streets. The extra session of Congress is being held and its proceedings are unusually interesting. The hotels are all crowded, and I regret to say that many of the officers are more likely to be found some of them, than in the camps of their commands. A better discipline is about to be introduced by the new commander, and though volunteers are not expected to be under as strict rules as regular officers, yet the efficiency of the army requires the adoption of more stringent regulations that have hitherto prevailed. 

I visited the Marshall House at Alexandria, where Col. Ellsworth and his assassin were killed. The stairs on which Ellsworth stood, and the floor where he fell, are entirely torn away by relic seekers. Alexandria is under martial law, and is almost deserted by its inhabitants. Grass grows in its streets, and the whole place wears an aspect of desolation and ruin. Hardly a person or vehicle is seen in its streets, and its quiet is well suited to the hospitals for which many of the buildings are now used. I visited the famous slave pens of “Price and Birch, Slave Dealers,” whose sign in immense letters, covers the front of the large building which was devoted to the traffic in human flesh.  As I walked through the de_____ enclosures of this revolting establishment, I could not but feel a strong hope that its walls might never again incarcerated slave and that the issue of this bloody struggle might prove to be the overthrow of an institution, that has shown itself to be the very hot bed of treason, as it has been the great blocked on our national escutcheon.

MAIKELA.