afterwards that Stone had
not the means to cross the river. He could not have crossed in the face
of the "enemy."

General Lander says, "Stone was tripped up by circumstances. If we had
orders to cross that stream, we would have had them a week beforehand."

General McClellan says to the Committee on the Conduct of the War, who
(judged by the questions which they put), seemed to consider themselves
educated soldiers, competent to give orders in actual battle,--"Telegraphed
Stone after Baker fell. Intrench yourselves on the Virginia side and
await reinforcements if necessary. Telegraphed Banks to support him
with three brigades. On the 22nd inst. I went personally to the scene
of operation (probably to Edward's Ferry), and after ascertaining that
the enemy were strengthening themselves at Leesburg, and that the means
of crossing or recrossing were very insufficient, I withdrew our forces
to the Virginia side."

General Meade in his published letters, (he then commanded a Brigade in
McCall's Division), writes October 24th, "Regarding Ball's Bluff, as
far as I can gather, the whole affair was a bungle from beginning to
end. The worst part of the business is that at the very time our people
were contending against such odds, the advance of McCall's division was
only 10 miles off and had we been ordered forward instead of back, we
could have captured the whole of them."

Such is contemporary judgment and criticism.

The following stanzas were written by Brigadier General F. W. Lander on
hearing that the Confederate Troops said,--"Fewer of the Massachusetts
officers would have been killed, had they not been too proud to
surrender."

Aye, deem us proud, for we are more
Than proud of all our mighty dead;
Proud of the bleak and rock-bound shore
A crowned oppressor cannot tread.

Proud of each rock, and wood and glen,
Of every river, lake and plain;
Proud of the calm and earnest men,
Who claim the right and will to reign.

Proud of the men who gave us birth,
Who battled with the stormy wave,
To sweep the Red Man from the Earth,
And build their homes upon his grave.

Proud of the holy summer morn
They traced in blood upon its sod;
The rights of freeman yet unborn;
Proud of their language and their God.

Proud that beneath our proudest dome,
And round the cottage cradled hearth,
There is a welcome and a home
For every stricken race on