leasant
and without danger. "It was," says Arnold, describing that of which he
had been an eye-witness, "the era of brilliant reviews and magnificent
military displays, of parades, festive parties, and junketings." Members
of Congress found excursions to the camps attractive for themselves and
their visitors. Glancing arms, new uniforms, drill, and music
constituted a fine show. Thus the rest of the summer passed away, and
autumn came and was passing, too. Then here and there signs of
impatience began again to be manifested. It was observed with discontent
that the glorious days of the Indian Summer, the perfect season for
military operations, were gliding by as tranquilly as if there were not
a great war on hand, and still the citizen at home read each morning in
his newspaper the stereotyped bulletin, "All quiet on the Potomac;" the
phrase passed into a byword and a sneer. By this time, too, to a nation
which had not European standards of excellence, the army seemed to have
reached a high state of efficiency, and to be abundantly able to take
the field. Why did not its commander move? Amid all the drilling and
band-playing the troops had been doing hard work: a chain of strong
fortifications scientifically constructed had been completed around the
capital, and rendered it easy of defense. It could be left in safety.
Why, then, was it not left? Why did the troops still linger?

For a moment this monotony was interrupted by the ill-conducted
engagement at Ball's Bluff. On October 21 nearly 2000 troops were sent
across the Potomac by the local commander, with the foolish expectation
of achieving something brilliant.[146] The actual result was that they
were corralled in an open field; in their rear the precipitous bank
dropped sharply to the river, upon which floated only the two or three
little boats which had ferried them across in small parties; in front
and flank from the shelter of thick woods an outnumbering force of
rebels poured a steady fire upon them. They were in a cruel snare, and
suffered terribly in killed and drowned, wounded and captured. The
affair was, and the country at once saw that it was, a gross blunder.
The responsibility lay upon General Stone and Colonel Baker. Stone, a
military man by education, deserved censure, but he was treated in a
manner so cruel, so unjust, and so disproportionate to his deserts, that
his error has been condoned in sympathy for his wrongs. The injustice
was chargeable ch