George H. Gordon, From Brook Farm to Cedar Mountain

[275] and a numerous staff drew rein; while the cannon roared, the drums sounded, and the horses pranced or cavorted so vigorously that it took about ten minutes to quiet their demonstrations of admiration for Pope. Then the review began in column of brigades, of which mine was the last.

As the General rode in turn in front of each brigade, he was to be received by each regiment in the orthodox style of the regulation,--three ruffles from the drum, the march, the colors drooped, and a present-arms. Now when Pope was receiving these regulation tokens of respect from the left regiment of the brigade in my front, what did that incorrigible Twenty-seventh Indiana do, on the left of my line, but put the whole paragraph of ruffles, marches, and droops in, and all in the wrong place,--the colonel commanding looking on meanwhile as blandly as did Pickwick when he awoke in the pound as a trespasser upon the lands of the fierce Captain Boldwig. My feelings were indescribable. I fancied Pope looked like Captain Boldwig, when that worthy discovered the handbarrow and heard the words “cold punch” muttered as his baptismal name by the unhappy Pickwick; at all events, we knew that we had lost what otherwise would have been an easy victory.

There was no reserve about General Pope; he “let out” in censure with such vigor, that if words had been missiles our army would never have failed for want of ammunition. In a long talk with me at his headquarters on the fifth of August, he attributed our want of success at Richmond to mismanagement on the part of McClellan, for whom he seemed to entertain a bitter hatred, which might have pleased the Administration, but found little favor with us.

I think General Pope's freedom of speech infected his command with a general mania for discussing men and