Irresistible

"The Sons of God Saw the Daughters of Man that they were Fair"
Daniel Chester French (1923)

Image Credit: Lee Sandstead

Thinking about comparing things to Adam led me to this

Come, sleep! thou luxury to the happiest; thou matchless blessing to those that may not be comforted. Come deathlike; profound as Adam's first. Fated progenitor! Then from near thy soft heart, sprang its resistless enemy, evermore armed against the peace of thy unhappy sons! Nay, the very angels surrendered Heaven, and trembling, yielded to her arms.
(August 1852; and Scenes and Adventures in the Army)

which sounds something like this

All of us have monarchs and sages for kinsmen; nay, angels and archangels for cousins; since in antediluvian days, the sons of God did verily wed with our mothers, the irresistible daughters of Eve.  (Mardi)

in the allusion to Genesis 6:1-4, with special mention of the inherently irresistible charms of the fair sex.

From context (even the "trembling" Angels could not help but give in) it's clear that "resistless" in the 1852 text really means irresistible. 

Let's see, where else does Melville allude to Genesis 6:2? For a start, chapter 50 of Moby-Dick:

"... when though, according to Genesis, the angels indeed consorted with the daughters of men, the devils also, add the uncanonical Rabbins, indulged in mundane amours."

UPDATE: 
Another reference by Melville to Genesis 6:2-4, from early in Pierre:

Did not the angelical Lotharios come down to earth, that they might taste of mortal woman's Love and Beauty? even while her own silly brothers were pining after the self-same Paradise they left? Yes, those envying angels did come down; did emigrate; and who emigrates except to be better off? (Book II, iv)

Melville's Pierre was published at the end of July 1852; the excerpt from Scenes Beyond the Western Border is from the August 1852 installment.  And look here! the previous installment in July 1852 also recalled the descent of angels, down to earth, for Love's sake:

"... that electric chain of Love which binds humanity—and in the olden Time drew down angels!" (Scenes Beyond the Western Border, July 1852)

Comparisons to Adam, 1851-2

The best diplomatists of us all, they would conquer the land as easily as, — Adam lost Paradise. 
(Scenes Beyond the Western Border, April 1852; and  Scenes and Adventures in the Army)

Come, sleep! thou luxury to the happiest; thou matchless blessing to those that may not be comforted. Come deathlike; profound as Adam's first. Fated progenitor! Then from near thy soft heart, sprang its resistless enemy, evermore armed against the peace of thy unhappy sons! Nay, the very angels surrendered Heaven, and trembling, yielded to her arms.
(August 1852; and Scenes and Adventures in the Army)

A most imperial and archangelical apparition of that unfallen, western world, which to the eyes of the old trappers and hunters revived the glories of those primeval times when Adam walked majestic as a god, bluff-bowed and fearless as this mighty steed.  (Moby-Dick)

 I feel deadly faint, bowed, and humped, as though I were Adam, staggering beneath the piled centuries since Paradise. (Moby-Dick)

"He would turn Turk before he would disown an allegiance hereditary to all gentlemen, from the hour their Grand Master, Adam, first knelt to Eve." (Pierre)

"... there came into the mind of Pierre, thoughts and fancies never imbibed within the gates of towns; but only given forth by the atmosphere of primeval forests, which, with the eternal ocean, are the only unchanged general objects remaining to this day, from those that originally met the gaze of Adam."  (Pierre)

bears again

John W. Shroeder on bears and bear symbolism in The Confidence-Man:

“Nevertheless, Mocmohoc did, upon a time, with such fine art and pleasing carriage win their confidence, that he brought them all together to a feast of bear’s meat, and there, by strategm, ended them.” ... [quoting from chapter 26 of The Confidence-Man]

... The ill-fated feast of bear’s meat has it symbolic implications. The agent of the Black Rapids Coal Company confesses that his stock has recently undergone a slight devaluation. This depression of the stock he assigns to “the growling, the hypocritical growling, of the bears.”
…. “Scoundrelly bears!"  [quoting from chapter 9]

When we make the proper allowance for the speaker, it becomes evident that the bear is the distrustful man; the man who has no confidence in the false, bright side of things; the only man in Melville’s universe who has a sporting chance against snakes, Indians, and confidence-men.

The Missouri bachelor was “somewhat ursine in aspect”; he sported “a shaggy spencer of the cloth called bearskin.”  He growled at the man with the plate like “Bruin in a hollow trunk.” [chapter 21]

The confidence-man, as we know, finally took in this bear, just as he [in the guise of Mocmohoc] took in the Wrights and the Weavers....

-- Sources and Symbols for Melville’s Confidence-Man, PMLA, LXVI [1951]: 377-8)

 Cub, a Tragedy in Three Acts

In crossing the Platte this morning, the grizzly bear cub came on the scene in his final act.

It will be remembered by the patient and attentive future reader of this dry and methodical narrative, that its first appearance on any stage, was in "high" tragedy—that the first act embraced an unusual amount of sanguinary incident—that an innocent brother, (or sister,) being ruthlessly slain, and the baffled lady-mother left (unceremoniously) full of towering and demonstrative rage,— the imprisoned hero himself sank overwhelmed,—or in a well-acted counterfeit of death, (and was borne off, remember, on a "real" horse). That in the next act, (and three acts shall do for the tragedy of my bear,—originally they had but one,—but that was at the sacrifice of a goat,) he came to life in a manner that might very well have been criticized as an overdone piece of stage-effect,—but that in fact, the spectators were much moved, and gave full credit to the dangerous passion of his howl.

To-day, then,—for I scorn anachronism— was performed the final act. The stage (wagon) was on "real water." Enraged at his wrongs, his losses, and his galling chain, the "robustious beast" acted in a ridiculous and unbearable manner; aye, ''tore his passion to tatters, to very rags,"—splinters; the stage (wagon) could not hold him: and finally in despair, he "imitated humanity so abominably," as to throw himself headlong, and so drown—or hang himself: (the author cannot decide which—even after a post mortem examination;—and so leaves the decision of this important point to the commentators).

My tragedy is all true,—and if not quite serious, has, as is proper, its moral;—but rather, as I have alluded to the primitive tragedy, let that "future reader" here imagine the entry of Chorus, and their song to Freedom! That dumb beasts prefer death to slavery! Liberty lost, they can die without the excitement of the world's applause, or hopes of a grateful posterity! (It is not possible, I think, that the cub could have known that I would immortalize him.)

Scenes Beyond the Western Border, Southern Literary Messenger 19 (March 1853) page 159 and Scenes and Adventures in the Army (1857) page 390.

For more on the mock tragedy of the bear cub, see the previous posts about high tragedies and about the goat and about the New York Herald review of Pierre and about the Literary World review of Pierre.

And the one about his howl.

Yes, the Indian prays!

Why say that?  Who said anything about Indians not praying?  This exclamatory affirmation of Indian piety occurs in the fourth and final revision of a passage from the romantic tale of chief Sha-wah-now and his kidnapped lover, a blue-eyed maiden named Ayeta.

And now, to those faded snows, the new moon and evening star began to beam, like an answering sign; and now, too, a sound of praise was heard in a gentle breeze, which stirred the mountain firs, as with a spirit anthem. Sha-wah-now was softened into prayer. 

Yes, the Indian prays! — prays in these sublime solitudes, where he feels the Great Spirit very near!

Sha-wah-now thanked aloud the great Wah-con-dah, that he was there, firm in soul, and strong in arm, and asked but guidance in his desperate purpose. (Scenes and Adventures in the Army)

To see and compare all four published versions of the passage on the chief's daydream, see
Revising the Reverie of Sha-wah-now at Juxta Commons. 

After revision for the 1857 book (probably completed in 1854), the passage emphasizes the reverent prayer of the Indian chief. Gone, however, is a quotation adapted from Byron's Don Juan which had appeared in this 1842 version from the July 1842 Southern Literary Messenger:

... for the sun had long gone, and the glories of his path, gently fading, had yielded to the crescent moon and her companion star; and now arose the evening's holy anthem, that lulls the lovely sleep of nature; the sighing breeze that crept from leaf to leaf, and gently whispered to the grass; the spirit-wailings of the pines; the deep-toned chorus of the insect song; and its harmony with

"that hour
Of love, and night, and mountain solitude,
O'erflowed his soul with their united power."

Sha-wah-now's mood was softened into prayer. He thanked aloud the great Wah-con-dah that he was there; that his soul was free; that his right arm was strong; and he invoked his blessing upon his desperate purpose.

The tale of Sha-wa-now or Sha-wah-now actually exists in four versions:

1. A Tale of the Rocky Mountains, signed "Borderer." St Louis Beacon, January 13, 1831.  See below for the 1831 text, transcribed by me from the St Louis Beacon.  For research assistance and copies I am much obliged to Nancy Oliver and the fine staff of the St Louis Public Library.

2.  A Tale of the Rocky Mountains. Revised and significantly expanded version, now signed
"P. S. G. C." for Philip St George Cooke.  The Military and Naval Magazine of the United States 6 (September 1835): 32-39.  Appended "by request" (pp 39-42) is a poem titled "The Last Indian" by Larry Lyle from the April 1835 Southern Literary Messenger.  Larry Lyle is a pseudonym of Philip Pendleton Cooke.

3. SHA-WAH-NOW in "Scenes and Adventures in the Army" by A Captain of U. States Dragoons. Southern Literary Messenger 8 (July 1842): 458-62.

4.  Scenes and Adventures in the Army, Part I, 62-75.

Again, to see and compare more fascinating revisions, see Revising the Reverie of Sha-wah-now at Juxta Commons.

Sha-wa-now in the St Louis Beacon

Sha-wa-now is the hero of "A Tale of the Rocky Mountains," first published in the St Louis Beacon on January 13, 1831.  This narrative, along with two others that also originated in the St Louis Beacon (Mah-za-pa-mee and Hugh Glass), was interpolated into the 1842 magazine series "Scenes and Adventures in the Army" in the Southern Literary Messenger. The 1842 series formed the basis of Part I in the 1857 book, Scenes and Adventures in the Army.  In all later versions the spelling is Sha-wah-now.

The publication history of Scenes and Adventures in the Army is wonderfully complicated.  Sha-wa-now or Sha-wah-now actually exists in four versions:

1. A Tale of the Rocky Mountains, signed "Borderer." St Louis Beacon, January 13, 1831.  See below for the 1831 text, transcribed by me from the St Louis Beacon.  For research assistance and copies I am much obliged to Nancy Oliver and the fine staff of the St Louis Public Library.

2.  A Tale of the Rocky Mountains. Revised and significantly expanded version, now signed
"P. S. G. C." for Philip St George Cooke.  The Military and Naval Magazine of the United States 6 (September 1835): 32-39.  Appended "by request" (pp 39-42) is a poem titled "The Last Indian" by Larry Lyle from the April 1835 Southern Literary Messenger.  Larry Lyle is a pseudonym of Philip Pendleton Cooke.

3. SHA-WAH-NOW in "Scenes and Adventures in the Army" by A Captain of U. States Dragoons. Southern Literary Messenger 8 (July 1842): 458-62.

4.  Scenes and Adventures in the Army, Part I, 62-75.

Without further ado...

For the St. Louis Beacon.

A TALE OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.

Late in the afternoon of a spring day, and many years ago, a solitary Indian might have been seen threading the dangerous intricacies of the ascent of one of the Rocky Mountains. He followed the deep worn chasm of the mountain brook; for a moment he stood where often the flood of waters bore in awful confusion, rocks, earth and trees; at the next, with the activity of a chamois hunter, he cleared a dreadful space; a moment’s contemplation of the void below, bounded by peaks of jutting rock, must have reeled the brain of the most hardy. And now he traces the projecting ledge of a mountain precipice, (‘twas never meant for a path,) below him is death—a look must cost his life; above him, vertical granite; not a vine or twig to help him to live—his fingers grow to the rock!—his eagle gaze, if a moment averted, was dimed—that step will save him!—it is made—he is safe.

Thus situated, does earth’s proud lord seem lost in insignificance, amid surrounding sublimity; crushed with the weight of nature’s superiority. That rock has stood the monument of ages and man’s passing race; and it threatens his destruction at every step. But, no! to the mind that can grasp the comparison of the natural and the moral sublime, he appears an object of more grandeur than earth in its most imposing attitudes; that small form contains a soul that soars to comprehend the mechanism of a system of worlds, and places the precipice that threatens his animal life in the low places of its sphere.

Sha-wa-now was safe; the last difficulty was behind him, and he stood upon the mountain top. Brave was he, and distinguished for success in war—his person bore about it the aegis of dignity, which commanded the respect of the men, and the fond attachment of the women of his tribe. He was dressed in skins; his bust was bare, but for a furred mantle, which, in intuitive imitation of the senator of Rome, he folded beneath his shoulders, leaving the right arm freed for action. He wore at his back, a bow, and well stored quiver; and in his belt was a tomahawk.

He leaned against a rock, and contemplated the dangers he had passed, the valley below, and the mountains beyond, with mingled feelings of simple devotion to the ‘Great Spirit’ and admiration at a view in which sublimity and beauty contended for predominance. The “Glorious God of day” was fast retiring to his couch. The sun in mid-heaven is but a tame spectacle; his effect though dazzling, is simple; there, he is something alike beyond our ken and thoughts; merely useful. But when, as it were, he approaches our earth in setting; is surrounded by the horizon’s mist—‘tis then, that he is the glorious father of a thousand beauties—a hemisphere blushes red as roses, a mountain structure of calm and motionless clouds, seems a palace of fancy adorned with every Heaven-born hue. It was such a sun that shed its divine influence o’er that valley. The ground swelled into slight undulations; a stream wound its way in the midst; its banks were dotted with trees—all was rejoicing in the influence of spring—all was covered with the most delicate hues of green. The last glimpses of sunshine brightened up some spots only for the contrast of the richer shade. The surface of that valley appeared as soft, as fair as a maiden’s cheek; and its contemplation filled at the moment as large and tender a spot in the heart of the Indian, as that of the maiden blushes of his own, his beautiful Ayeta.

He might have seen in the dim futurity of rolling ages, in this wide field fresh from the hand of its Creator, the rise of a pastoral nation, rejoicing to revive the simple delights of the pastoral nation, many a May-pole, to enliven the cheering vista, surrounded by the glad youth of a new race. His Mentor, the genius of two vallies, was now a youth with cheeks of mantling fairness. And the youth would imperceptibly become a grey-beard, but one that smiled with beneficent serenity, pointing to the picture created to his mind’s eye. A new world grown old—its bounteous simplicity had changed. Earth’s last green spot had yielded to the marring hand of its master, man. The poet no longer retired to a grotto to invoke the forgotten Goddesses of his art. The lover could no longer find a green and solitary glen, to mingle his sighs with the murmur of falling waters. All this had passed—the favoured clime now in its maturity had become the granary of other exhausted regions. The vigorous development of its never fading richness, was a world’s supply. He saw the Oregon and Mississippi, its rival drains, whitened with the world’s mingled navies; which in return for undreampt of triumphs of Art’s perfection, bore off superfluous bread.

But what was the motive of Sha-wa-now’s perilous journey? Tho fierce and inexorable in war—eloquent and dignified in council, like other great, and some of the greatest of men, he, reluctantly at first, then with enthusiasm, yielded to the heart’s ascendancy.

Ayeta was the daughter of a brother chief. Early had she been marked as an extraordinary child—one of retiring modesty, that was fond of pensive solitude—her eye was remarkable as different from almost all of her race; it was blue, while the lash and brow was of glossy blackness. Owing to youth and little exposure, (she was the pride of her father,) her complexion might have been envied as a clear brunette. Her mind was well fitted to so superior a mould. Sha-wa-now had marked her with a tender interest as early as her twelfth year—that enchanting era, “Ere time had chill’d a single charm,” when they bud like tender flowers, are stamped with the “Impress of Divinity.”

Before her sixteenth, he had wooed and won her heart. She loved him for those qualities which made him the pride of his nation—which seemed to mark him alone, as the fit possessor of so great a prize.

But “the course of true love never did run smooth.” War, relentless war, at once the scourge and pride of love and lovers, had lit upon the tribe with unusual severity. Some of its governless, ambitious and ever restless youth, had been unequal to a temptation to steal horses from their vagrant neighbors, the Chayennes; reprisals were made—and at length a scalp was taken—the tribe was aroused to revenge—the warrior put on his black paint, and struck his battle-axe into the war-post. Cupid was frightened from his summer bower—the maidens trembled for their loves. Each brave rejoiced in the confusion; in the storm which he aimed to direct.

I say, that for Indians, the war had gone unusual lengths. In the absence of a large party, headed by Sha-wa-now, the Chayennes made a daring inception, and took many women and children prisoners. Returning unsuccessful, Sha-wa-now learnt the unhappy truth. The tribe had suffered severely; his reputation was at stake. But his inmost soul confessed, that the worst of all, was his Ayeta a prisoner. Great was, within him, the conflict of rage and despair. He retired from all witnesses that might discover his weakness. He deemed that a curse was on him. He made a vow to the Wahcontonga, that he would not again enter a lodge, or commune with his tribe, until he had avenged its honor, and had, and alone, rescued its pride, and his only motive of life, or offered himself a sacrifice to an offended Deity.

Such was Sha-wa-now’s desperate errand. He that night allowed himself no rest; for as he approached the probable vicinity of his enemies, concealment was necessary, both to safety and success. All the next day he lay concealed. For in the trailed grass he had discovered the fresh sign of a large party; doubtless the one he sought. At dusk he resumed his cautious advances. He gained, with untiring exertion, a high point to make an anxious and critical survey of the surrounding country. At length he thought he could perceive something like smoke rising from high ground not very distant. But then it was impossible his enemies would thus betray the situation of the night-camp? He watched the spot until, to his strained eyes, the “sign” became even more uncertain; and when nearly in despair of making so soon the much wished discovery, in the stillness of night, his keen and practised ear detected the sound of horses. He no longer could doubt. He was prepared, mind and body, for desperate adventure. He commenced his noiseless approach—hours were thus spent; but at length the truth was before him. He beheld from the high ground, in a sink-hole below him, at once the objects of his desperate hate, and fond attachment. The war party, elated with success, and tired of the lengthy and rapid excursion, had ventured, in the concealment of the hole, to light fires for better refreshment. Their dusky forms were extended in sleep around the dying embers. The horses were picketed almost in contact. Though eager for action, he made a deliberate survey of his enemies—their situation—of the ground within and out of the hole. His plan was designed; but an obstacle to probable success, was presented in the group, which he readily perceived surrounded the bound captives—it was an Indian in a sitting posture, apparently half asleep, but still gnawing at a bone. What must he do?—wait ‘till he, too, should sleep? It was absolutely necessary. It seemed an age. And would not another take his place and watch? He knew that although they keep no sentinels, with all Indians in such camps, some one, or a few are nearly always awake—generally eating. But at length his hopes were accomplished. The unconsciously tantalizing Indian reclined, and apparently in deep sleep. Now was his time, or never. He commenced his approach, crawling flat on the earth—he was in the midst of those, whose greatest ambition was his scalp. He discovered his Ayeta; she was sunk in death-like sleep. He touched her from—she moved—he whispered to her ear, “be silent, or die.” She opened her eyes, and beheld the face of her dearest object on earth; his finger was on his lips enjoining silence. He cut the thongs w[h]ich bound her, and slowly extricated himself from among his sleeping foes; she as cautiously followed him. He had cut loose a horse—he clasped her form, and sprung upon its back. The first sounds of its motion, and the alarm was given, and they were all on their feet—a moment for astonishment—a moment for discovery—and the next an astounding yell of rage burst from the lips of each.

“The owlets started from their dream,
“The eaglets answered with their scream;
“Round and around the sounds were cast,
“‘Till echo seemed an answering blast.”

Some rushed forward on foot, with uplifted tomahawks; others hastily strung their bows, while the many mounted their horses. Favored by darkness, the arrows passed harmlessly by the fugitives. Their horses were their only hope—and Sha-wa-now had fortunately chosen one of the best. Doubtful was the chase. Shame and rage inspired the pursuers to make desperate efforts. Darkness and the winding vallies favored the flight. Widely were they dispersed—all could not mistake the direction, though some were at fault. Encouraging shouts occasionally marked the point which each aimed at; but it would not do; the pursuers dropt off, one by one; at last, all, but the distinguished captor of the recovered prize, had given up immediate pursuit; and right glad was Sha-wa-now , it was no worse, for his jaded horse had become unequal to the double burthen. His mind was perfectly cool—practised and successful in strategie, a happy plan was suggested, which he hastened to execute. He whispered to the half senseless girl to sit firm, and continue to fly, when he easily slipped from the horse, falling flat upon the earth. As expected, the change was not discovered by the pursuer, who rapidly approached straight to the spot. The bow was strung; the arrow was fixed; and when he was within a few paces, it whizzed through the air. By the time his horse had reached the chief, who stood with tomahawk in readiness, his foe fell, and was at his feet. He uttered a signal yell of triumph, hastily took the scalp, and mounting the horse, was soon by the side of his recognizing maid.

Sha-wa-now reached his village in safety, bearing a trophy of success, the most highly prized by his nation—the scalp of the chief of the Cheyennes; but dearer to him, than that, was the beautiful girl he had rescued from a horrid death, and who, from that day, graced his lodge.

He had performed a feat which could raise even his reputation. Long he lived to recount at the festival, this “coup,” which the old had not equaled; and to rival which, was the highest ambition of the young men. It is recorded in rude hieroglyphics, which the old still explain to the young, as one of the proudest traditions of the tribe.

BORDERER.
Missouri River, Nov. 1830

Who Wrote the Journal of Wharton's 1844 Expedition? Probably Clifton Wharton.

UPDATE: Another thing is, Cooke's company K stayed behind at the "Great Nemaha Sub-Agency" on Thursday, September 19, 1844 to supervise "payment of annuities to the Indians," as Young reports. Yes, and Wharton's journal continues uninterrupted, with the events of the next day, Friday, September 20th, and his return to Fort Leavenworth at 4 p.m. on Saturday, September 21st.  Cooke therefore could not have written the last two entries, which show no sign of altered or diminished style. Indeed, that final entry quotes from Othello to explain the absence of the tardy Chaplain:

"having takn a trail which led him down into the Missouri bottom, he got so involved in cowpaths, and cross-tracks, dead logs, and quagmires--making him almost believe, that "Chaos has come again".....

Also many more examples could be given of comments reflecting Wharton's point of view, for example:

"the Commanding officer, pursuant to his determination to seek a new route to the Pawnee villages, directed the guide..."

"Thinking with Macbeth it was "as bad retreating as go o'er," the commanding officer determined...."

"Here doubts were entertained by some whether we had struck the Platte below or above the Pawnee towns.  The Commanding officer thought below, and accordingly determined to ascend the valley."

Otis E Young credits Philip St George Cooke with authorship or co-authorship of Clifton Wharton's 1844 journal.  Major Wharton signed it, but the elevated literary style leads Young to conjecture that Wharton copied "almost verbatim from Cooke's diary" (the existence of which is also a presumption).  Jeffrey V. Pearson in his recent dissertation agrees, finding "no evidence to contradict Young's claim to Cooke's authorship."

But really, the claim for Cooke's authorship is weakly supported. 

Wharton signed the 1844 report.  Despite conventional use of the third person in references to Major Wharton, the point of view is consistently that of the commanding officer:

"The old Chief was in this line, and as he met Major Wharton and the Surgeon manifested with his people great pleasure at seeing us again."

"Pa-to-sho-kuk, an influential man among them, and one remarkable for his good sense, and his inclination to follow good counsels, remarked to the Commanding officer in a conversation on the subject of their state of suspense, that they were 'like a bird in a storm, uncertain what bough it might light upon.'"
(Expedition of Major Clifton Wharton in 1844; in
Collections of the Kansas State Historical Society vol 16)

Wharton also was an able writer, with literary ambitions of his own.  The polish of this journal is nothing like the plain style of Cooke in his 1843 Santa Fe journal, or for that matter Cooke's 1846-7 Journal of the March of the Mormon Battalion.  Allusions to classical literature, Shakespeare, and bits of romantic poetry sound more like the "Prairie Logbooks" of James Henry Carleton than anything in official accounts that Cooke is known to have written.

Wharton's' 1844 journal contains stock phrases that Wharton used in official correspondence, such as "it may be well to state..." (For example, Letters Received by the Adjutant General, 1844 W255)

And here's something Otis Young apparently did not know: Wharton was seriously unhappy with Cooke around this time. Five months before the expedition, Wharton complained to the Adjutant General about Cooke's formal complaint, which included implied criticism of cavalry instruction at Fort Leavenworth.  You know Wharton is hot when he questions the manliness of Cooke's actions.

On February 17, 1844 Wharton wrote the following:

I transmit direct to you a communication received yesterday from Capt. P. St. Geo. Cooke of the Dragoons touching a remark I made on the muster roll of his company on the 31st of December last in my capacity as Mustering & Inspecting officer. The letter is sent direct because the muster rolls themselves take such a course, as well as any notes from your office touching their correction &c.

It is not without some hesitation I forward this paper, and I verily believe, if any other officer than myself was affected by it, I should return it, that all offensive matter might be stricken from it. The right of an officer to apply for a redress of grievances, or to defend himself against improper aspersions, is one thing, but, at the same time to endeavour to injure another, not by an open, manly accusation, but by innuendo, or insinuation, is quite another thing; and with the exercise of all due charity I am constrained to regard the last paragraph of Capt. Cooke’s letter in the latter light. I should be sorry to do injustice however to that officer’s motives, and I will therefore qualify my remark, by saying, that his last paragraph is calculated, if not intended, to do me injury. 

It is remarkable that Capt. Cooke is the only officer who has taken exception to my remark respecting the Instruction of his company, although you will find, in reference to the Rolls of Companies B. & F, Dragoons, that the same remark almost, and intended to convey the same opinion….

... For what object could Capt. Cooke have thought it necessary to say how many Squadron Drills there have been since the 25th of Oct. last? Why did he not say what other drills had been ordered—what circumstances had interfered to prevent frequent instruction &c? These questions will at once show how much injustice may be done by omitting to state the whole truth, and to what an embarrassing position a Comd. Officer may be against such a mode of attack.The right to complain, or the right to petition, may be abused in military as well as in civil life, and the remedy be found difficult to provide, but, in military service a due subordination requires that especial care should be taken that a defence, a petition, an application for redress should be confined to its true objects, and that such papers should not become the vehicle of indirect attack upon another party—a mode of attack objectionable because calculated to do injury in proportion to the difficulty of defending oneself against whatever is vague or inferential.

(Letters Received by the Adjutant General, 1844 Wharton W72, accessible at fold3)

Cooke had strongly objected to Wharton's statement that being detached from the post, Cooke's company "lost the opportunity of receiving instruction in tactics."  Cooke's letter dated February 16, 1844, the one that offended Wharton, complained:

This if not a reflection on the state of the company last summer (when I was commanding officer) is at least an injurious comparison as to its instruction.

I therefore deem it my duty in defence, to remark, that besides the advantage of daily instruction & practice of all the most important duties of troops, the company was last summer drilled on the prairies more than it has been since it arrived here Oct. 25th. To be more specific, from that date to this, the only squadron drill that has taken place—as I believe— I ordered, & conducted myself about the 19th of Dec. ’43. 
(Letters Received by the Adjutant General, 1844 Cooke, P S - C51, at fold3.com)

Immediately forwarding the written grievance from Cooke to the Adjutant General, Wharton also appended the following comment, dated February 17, 1844:

The remarks on the Muster Roll to which Captain Cooke takes exception I do not retract, nor can I under existing circumstances condescend to explain for his benefit. Had Capt. C., before addressing this letter to higher authority, in a spirit of frankness, mentioned to me his alledged ground of complaint, in a like spirit I would have endeavorured to have satisfied him that the object & scope of my remark was very far from being designed to cast a reflection on the state of his company last summer, and further, that the inference he draws from the remark is not a just one. But Capt. Cooke has chosen a different course, and I leave him to abide its results.

The insinuation, contained in the last paragraph of his letter, calculated, if not intended, to the disadvantage to me elsewhere, I will not, from a regard for the decorum which should mark official communications, duly characterise. I will simply say, that responsible for the state of my command, I claim to be the judge, under which circumstances tactical instruction must be dispensed with, and, consulting circumstances, what lesson or school, from time to time, it shall be given in. The forwarding this letter I beg not to be understood as giving any sanction, whatever, to Capt. Cooke in writing it.

The style and point of view in Wharton's 1844 journal are Wharton's. He signed it, and surely had no thought or need of copying from the diary (assuming there was one) of his perceived antagonist.  If anything, Wharton is likely to have consulted the extensive notes of James Henry Carleton, which were published as "Occidental Reminiscences" from November 9, 1844 to April 12, 1845 in the New York Spirit of the Times.