defeat. Carleton's letter of July 24th, written in Boston, fairly
fumes with indignation at the blind critics and in defence of the hard
work of the ever faithful old Army of the Potomac, "which has had hard
fighting,--terrible fighting, and little praise." He lost patience
with those staying at home depreciating the army and finding fault
with General Meade. He wrote: "Frankly and bluntly, I cannot
appreciate such stupidity. Why not as well ask if the sun rose this
morning? That battle was the greatest of the war. It was a repulse
which became a disastrous defeat to General Lee." He sarcastically
invited critics, "instead of staying at home to weaken the army by
finding fault, to step into the ranks and help do the 'bagging,' the
'cutting up,' and the 'routing' which they thought ought to have been
done."

CHAPTER XIII.

THE BATTLES IN THE WILDERNESS.

After the exhausting Gettysburg campaign, Carleton was obliged to rest
some weeks. So far as his letter-book shows, he did not engage in war
correspondence again until the opening of the next year, when he
entered upon his fourth hundred of letters, and began a tour of
observation through the border States. Traversing those between the
Ohio River and the Lakes, besides Missouri and Kansas, he kept the
_Journal_ readers well informed of the state of sentiment, and showed
the preparations made to pursue the war. At the last of April, we find
him in Washington preparing his readers for the great events of the
Wilderness, in letters which clearly describe the prospective "valley
of decision." The grandest sight, that week, in the city, was the
marching of Burnside's veteran corps, in which were not only the
bronzed white heroes, following their own torn and pierced
battle-flags, but also regiments of black patriots, slaves but a few
months before, but now no longer sons of the Dark Continent, but of
the Land of Hope and Opportunity. From slavery they had been redeemed
in the Free Republic. Unpaid sons of toil once, but free men now, they
were marching with steady step to certain victory or to certain death,
for at that moment came the sickening details of the massacre of Fort
Pillow. On the balcony of the hotel, standing beside the handsome
Burnside, was the tall and pale man who, having given them freedom,
now recognized them as soldiers. As they halted by the roadside and
read the accounts of massacre, their white teeth clenched, and oaths,
not altogether prof