excitement, crowds and motion, and desperate eagerness, it seems
strange to see many, very many, of the soldiers sleeping--in the midst
of all, sleeping sound. They drop down anywhere, on the steps of
houses, up close by the basements or fences, on the sidewalk, aside on
some vacant lot, and deeply sleep. A poor 17 or 18 year old boy
lies there, on the stoop of a grand house; he sleeps so calmly, so
profoundly. Some clutch their muskets firmly even in sleep. Some in
squads; comrades, brothers, close together--and on them, as they lay,
sulkily drips the rain.

As afternoon pass'd, and evening came, the streets, the bar-rooms,
knots everywhere, listeners, questioners, terrible yarns, bugaboo,
mask'd batteries, our regiment all cut up, &c.--stories and
story-tellers, windy, bragging, vain centres of street-crowds.
Resolution, manliness, seem to have abandon'd Washington. The
principal hotel, Willard's, is full of shoulder-straps--thick,
crush'd, creeping with shoulder-straps. (I see them, and must have a
word with them. There you are, shoulder-straps!--but where are your
companies? where are your men? Incompetents! never tell me of chances
of battle, of getting stray'd, and the like. I think this is your
work, this retreat, after all. Sneak, blow, put on airs there in
Willard's sumptuous parlors and bar-rooms, or anywhere--no explanation
shall save you. Bull Run is your work; had you been half or one-tenth
worthy your men, this would never have happen'd.)

Meantime, in Washington, among the great persons and their entourage,
a mixture of awful consternation, uncertainty, rage, shame,
helplessness, and stupefying disappointment. The worst is not only
imminent, but already here. In a few hours--perhaps before the next
meal--the secesh generals, with their victorious hordes, will be upon