propose to try him in the same manner and by the same standard as we
would if his loyalty had never been questioned.

The early morning of the 12th day of June, 1861, found the writer a
volunteer soldier of less than two months' experience in camp, just
arrived with his regiment, from the distant Badger State, at
Chambersburg, in Pennsylvania, where it was to join Patterson's division
of the Federal army. For the next two months ensuing, the writer
possessed all the facilities attainable to a private in the ranks for
observing the progress of events in that division of the army, judging
as to the propriety or necessity of the various movements, and forming
opinions as to whether Patterson was using to the best advantage the
military means within his control. These facilities were not many, it is
true; but the public opinion of the North demanded certain actions from
the general, and the writer, though but a private, could judge as to
whether those demands of the loyal North were reasonable, and as to
whether Patterson could accomplish what was required, if he chose. He
was expected to _do something_; it did not matter in what particular
manner; but it was deemed essential that he should in some way hold
Johnston in check, and prevent his junction with the main rebel force at
Manassas. And this was precisely what Patterson did not do. Bull Run was
fought and lost, and the very result attained which Patterson was
expected to prevent. Could it have been prevented?

It is fashionable in these days to set up the cry of inefficiency when a
general does not do everything that public opinion requires. The
Americans are proverbially a fault-finding people; and it will of course
be as easy to make out an _ex parte_ case against Gen. Patterson as
against our other generals. We propose, nevertheless, at the risk of
being unfashionable, to discuss candidly these expectations of the