fire, and the occasional pauses were to husband his ammunition."

The Union loss in killed and permanently disabled was twentyfive. The rebel loss, one man killed and three wounded. A few hours after the action, Great Bethel was evacuated. If General Pierce had withdrawn his men out of fire, and caused them to sit down and eat their dinner, it is highly probable the enemy would have retreated; for they were greatly outnumbered, and were perfectly aware that one regiment of steady and experienced troops, led by a man who knew his business, could have taken then all prisoners in twenty minutes. For the most part, our men, I am assured, behaved as well as could have been expected. All they wanted was commanders who knew what was the right thing to do, and who would go forward and show them how to do it. One well-compacted, well-sustained rush from any point of approach, and the battery had been theirs.

CHAPTER VIII.

CONSEQUENCES OF GREAT BETHEL.

GREAT BETHEL was a trifling skirmish; but, occurring just when it did, it was a calamity. It was the first shock of arms between the belligerents, and gave the key-note to at least the overture of the war-the first campaign. Splendid fighting has since been done, and a great deal of it. There has, also, been much bad fighting, many ill-concerted movements, much misconduct on the part of officers, some shameful flights and panics. It does not appear certain that we have yet learned to comply with all the fundamental conditions of successful war. We still seem capable, occasionally, of starting back in affright from phantoms, instead of marching forward and preventing phantoms from becoming realities. We all know what allowances were to be made for these Bethel regiments. We knew how they had left their counting-rooms and shops for a long frolic at soldiering, with officers who were, per

haps, more ignorant of their new profession than if they had never shone on parade, or distinguished themselves in the drill room. There is a kind of knowledge which deludes more than total ignorance, since it seems to conceal our ignorance from ourselves and from others.

It was rather surprising than otherwise that the first fighting of the war was done as well as it was done, since all the influences of our education and business had long tended to abate that exuberance of spirit, that confidence in our strength, which makes men mighty to dare and to overcome. The training which diminishes a man's fighting power is not culture, but effeminacy.

But if we had not learned the true secret of successful warfare, we are learning it; we shall learn it. Much creditable fighting has been done by the Union armies. But, contending as we are with a desperate foe, our armies must acquire the coherency which is only obtained by supplying them with officers whose superiority of knowledge will command the confidence of the men in critical moments. For many a year to come, perhaps, the élite of the young men of America will have to be bred to arms as a profession.

The day after Bethel was a sad one at Fortress Monroe. Lieutenant Greble's father was on his way to visit his son, and arrived only to take back his remains to his family, followed by the sorrow of the whole command. The fate of Winthrop was not yet known; he was reported only among the "missing." Before leaving headquarters he had borrowed a gun of the general, saying, gayly, "I may want to take a pop at them." In the course of the morning, this gun was brought in, with such information as led to the conclusion that he must have fallen; perhaps, thrown his life purposely away. During his short residence at head-quarters he had endeared himself to all hearts; to none more than to the general and Mrs. Butler. He was mourned as a brother by those who had known him but sixteen days.

As Mr. Curtis beautifully says in his fine sketch of his friend's career, "Theodore Winthrop's life, like a fire long smoldering, suddenly blazed up into a clear bright flame, and vanished. Descended. from John Winthrop and Jonathan Edwards, numbering among his ancestors seven presidents of Yale College, of which he was himself a distinguished graduate, with fine gifts, powerful friends, good opportunities, he lived thirty-three years without finding work that

could absorb and content him, unless it were literature, and for that he seemed to lack the something-bodily stamina, confidence in his powers, force of ambition or pressure of necessity—which could convert his longing into a career. His desk was full of manuscripts, since rightly valued; but his name was unknown to the public till he wrote the story of the march of the Seventh regiment. It was not force of vitality that he wanted. He had been everywhere, seen everything; walked over Scotland, Italy, Switzerland; ridden over our western plains and deserts. A short, slight, most active figure. "Often," says Mr. Curtis, "after writing for a few hours in the morning, he stepped out of doors, and, from pure love of the fun, leaped and turned summersets upon the grass, before going up to town. In walking about Staten Island, he constantly stopped by the roadside fences, and, grasping the highest rail, swung himself swiftly and neatly over and back again, resuming the walk and the talk without delay." Overwork at school and college had robbed him of that unchecked growth without which there can be no sustained fullness of endeavor. Unlearning what he had learned amiss, learning essential things of which the schools had given him no hint, chasing the world over after health-so passed the years of his maturity.

To the mother of his dead comrade, General Butler addressed the following letter:

"HEAD-QUARTERS DEPARTMENT OF VIRGINIA, "June 13th, 1861.

"MY DEAR MADAM:-The newspapers have anticipated me in the sorrowful intelligence which I have to communicate. Your son Theodore is no more. He fell mortally wounded from a rifle shot, at County Bridge. I have conversed with private John M. Jones, of the Northfield company in the Vermont regiment, who stood beside Major Winthrop when he fell, and supported him in his arms.

"Your son's death was in a few moments, without apparent anguish. After Major Winthrop had delivered the order with which he was charged, to the commander of the regiment, he took his rifle, and while his guide held his horse in the woods in the rear, with too daring bravery, went to the front; while there, stepping upon a log to get a full view of the force, he received the fatal shot. His friend, Colonel Wardrop, of Massachusetts, had loaned him a sword for the occasion, on which his name was marked in full, so that he was taken by the enemy for the colonel himself.

"Major Winthrop had advanced so close to the parapet, that it was not thought expedient by those in command to send forward any party to bring off the body, and thus endanger the lives of others in the attempt to secure his remains, as the rebels remorselessly fired upon all the small parties that went forward for the purpose of bringing off their wounded comrades.

Had your gallant son been alive, I doubt not he would have advised this course in regard to another. I have assurances from the officer in command of the rebel forces at County Bridge, that Major Winthrop received at their hand a respectful and decent burial.

"His personal effects found upon him, will be given up to my flag of truce, with the exception of his watch, which has been sent to Yorktown, and which I am assured will be returned through me to yourself.

"I have given thus particularly these sad details, because I know and have experienced the fond inquiries of a mother's heart respecting her son's acts. "My dear madam! although a stranger, my tears will flow with yours in grief for the loss of your brave and too gallant son, my true friend and brother. "I had not known him long, but his soldierly qualities, his daring courage, his true-hearted friendship, his genuine sympathies, his cultivated mind, his high moral tone, all combined to so win me to him, that he had twined himself about my heart with the cords of a brother's love.

"The very expedition which resulted so unfortunately for him, made him all the more dear to me. Partly suggested by himself, he entered into the necessary preparations for it with such alacrity, cool judgment, and careful foresight, in all the details that might render it successful, as gave great promise of future usefulness in his chosen profession. When, in answer to his request to be permitted to go with it, I suggested to him that my correspondence was very heavy, and he would be needed at home, he playfully replied: 'O general, we will all work extra hours, and make that up when we get back. The affair can't go on without me, you know.' The last words I heard him say before his good-night, when we parted, were, 'If anything happens, I have given my mother's address to Mr. Green.' His last thoughts were with his mother; his last acts were for his country and her cause.

"I have used the words 'unfortunate expedition for him!' Nay, not so; too fortunate thus to die doing his duty, his whole duty, to his country, as a hero, and a patriot. Unfortunate to us only who are left to mourn the loss to ourselves and our country.

"Permit me, madam, in the poor degree I may, to take such a place in your heart that we may mingle our griefs, as we already do our love and admiration for him who has only gone before us to that better world where, through the merits of Him who suffered for us,' we shall all meet together. "Most sincerely and affectionately, "Yours,

BENJ. F. BUTLER."

It may not be improper to add to this just and affecting tribute, a note addressed by the sister of the deceased officer to Mrs. Butler:

"STATEN ISLAND, June 10th, 1861.

"DEAR MRS. BUTLER:-I can not let this opportunity pass without expressing my gratitude to you, and General Butler, for your great kindness to my dear brother, and for your tenderness to us in our grief. It is a great comfort to us to know that we have your sympathy; to know that you valued Theodore, and appreciated him. We must always feel a warm friendship for you and yours, with whom he spent the last weeks of his life, the most eventful, the most useful, and the happiest, perhaps, he had ever spent. You know in some degree what we have lost, and I trust we shall one day meet as friends, and talk of things of the deepest interest to us, and which I am sure are not without interest to you. It does make us stronger to bear our sorrow, when we think of the cause for which our dear brother died; a cause long dear to us all, and now far dearer than ever. I trust our country will be nobler and worthier than ever of our love, after this dark hour of trial is past. May she not have, like Rachel, to weep for many more of her children. Yet truth and freedom can not be too dearly bought, by blood and tears.

"It is a great satisfaction to us to know from Theodore's letters, that some of the last acts of his life were kindnesses to an oppressed race, a race he never forgot, as a part of the Nation whose battle he fought.

"My mother and sisters join with me in affectionate remembrances, and in the hope of expressing in person at some future time our heartfelt gratitude, our interest and friendship for you as well as General Butler, whose career we watch with warm interest and admiration. Yours affectionately, "LAURA W. JOHNSON."

I must not leave this melancholy subject without mentioning the noble, and, I believe, unique atonement made by General Pierce for whatever errors he may have committed at Great Bethel. He served out his term of three months in such extreme sorrow as almost to threaten his reason. He then enlisted as a private in a three years regiment, and served for some time in that honorable lowliness. Appointed, at length, to the command of a regiment, he served with distinction through the campaign of the peninsula, where, in one of the battles, he was severely wounded.

General Butler, as we all remember, did not escape the censures of the press on this occasion. He was frequently favored with comments like the following:

"Men can not be required to stand in front of a rampart, thirty