We publish to day the long expected letter on the far famed correspondent of the London
Times.
Mr. W. H. Russell, on the
Bull Run , of which he may say:
‘
--" lone miserima , pain m g a "
’
We think our readers will agree with us is considering it a wretched failure, wanting alike in graphic detail, animated narrative, and every incident that can lead interest to a report of the fight and flight of
Manassas.--The description which we published the other day, of modern English literature, by a Frenchman, is never so true as when applied to the writings of this man. His style, to use the
Frenchman's simile, painfully reminds us of a faded belle, who seeks to supply by paints and cosmetics the charms that no longer exist.
He is eternally on the stills — eternally straining after effect — eternally laboring to produce a striking picture.
He is the great master, in modern times, of the forcible feeble — the writer, cursed above all others of his generation, with the
mania for fine writing.--It was not so when he was in the Crimes, or in
India.
But the climate of
America seems to have been fatal to him. He will never recover from the horrors of
Bull Run.
The letter of this writer is before the public.
Let them read it, and judge for themselves. --We shall only advert to one passage in it — that, namely, in which he says he learned a General
Scott's headquarters that the loss of the
Yankees on the 18th was only 47 killed and wounded. If
General Scott lent his countenance to the propagation of such a lie as this, he is a more contemptible tool of the
Yankees then we had even supposed him.--The whole Yankee loss, on that occasion, has been well ascertained.
It was 1,064 men killed and wounded, of whom more than sixty were buried on the field of battle.
The article of the London
Times is founded upon this letter of
Russell's, and is eminently characteristic.
It persists in making no distinction between the
Southern people and the
Yankees, although nature itself has created so marked a difference, and notwithstanding we are at war at this very moment.
It classes us all as
Americans, which, in British parlance, means Yankees, and makes us responsible for at least one half of the
Yankee meanness, in tolerance, insolence, and cowardice, which it sees fit to reprehend in no very measured terms.
It indulges in shouts of laughter at what it considers the ridiculous issue of a combat between two armies numbering together one hundred and fifty thousand men, American valor is divided by the valiant writers of the
Times, themselves the most valiant of men, on the authority of
Russell, who himself tells us that he outstripped the whole field of fugitives from
Manassas, and was in
Washington by eleven at night.
Not only are the routed men rated for their cowardice, but the men who put them to flight come in for an equal share of derision.
And yet, one would have thought the casualties on our side sufficient to have satisfied the most blood-thirsty.
Out of 15,000 men engaged we lost nearly a sixth, and of the
Yankees at least 3,000 were killed, or died of their wounds, while the wounded and prisoners amounted to four times that number.
Russell seems to have taken his cue from the
Yankees themselves.
He dilates upon the alarm among the wagons and their drivers, and, like the
Yankees, ascribes the defeat to them.
Had he gone near enough to see, he would have discovered that there was something more than a panic among the camp-followers to produce the stampede.
He would have seen a furious battle against overwhelming odds, and the utter rout of the
Yankees after ten hours hard fighting.
But he took care not to go to the front.
He was in the rear all day, and when the rout began, knew not what occasioned it.
