THE FIRST ACT OF THE MCCLELLAN DRAMA
On the day after the battle of Bull Run General George B. McClellan was
summoned to Washington, where he arrived on July 26. On the 25th he had
been assigned to the command of the army of the Potomac. By all the
light which President Lincoln had at the time of making this
appointment, it seemed the best that was possible; and in fact it was
so, in view of the immediate sphere of usefulness of a commanding
general in Virginia. McClellan was thirty-four years old, of vigorous
physique and fine address. After his graduation at West Point, in 1846,
he was attached to the Engineer Corps; he served through the Mexican
war, and for merit received a captaincy. In 1855 he was sent by
Jefferson Davis, then secretary of war, to Europe to study the
organizing and handling of armies in active service; and he was for a
while at the British headquarters during the siege of Sebastopol,
observing their system in operation. In January, 1857, he resigned from
the army; but with the first threatenings of the civil war he made ready
to play an active part. April 23, 1861, he was appointed by the governor
of Ohio a major-general, with command of all the state forces. May 13,
by an order from the national government, he took command of the
Department of the Ohio, in which shortly afterward Western Virginia was
included. He found the sturdy mountaineers of this inaccessible region
for the most part loyalists, but overawed by rebel troops, and toward
the close of May, upon his own sole responsibility, he inaugurated a
campaign for their relief. In this he had the good fortune to be
entirely successful. By some small engagements he cleared the country of
armed Secessionists and returned it to the Union; and in so doing he
showed energy and good tactical ability. These achievements, which later
in the war would have seemed inconsiderable, now led to confidence and
promotion.
In his new and exalted position McClellan became commander of a great
number of men, but not of a great army. The agglomeration of civilians,
who had run away from Manassas under the impression that they had fought
and lost a real battle, was utterly disorganized and demoralized. Some
had already reached the sweet safety of the villages of the North;
others were lounging in the streets of Washington and swelling the
receipts of its numerous barrooms. The majority, it is true, were in
camp across the Potomac, but in no condition to render service. All,
having been enlisted for three months, now had only a trifling remnant
of so-called military life before them, in which it seemed to many
hardly worth while to run risks. The new call for volunteers for three
years had just gone forth, and though troops began to arrive under it
with surprising promptitude and many three months' men reënlisted, yet a
long time had to elapse before the new levies were all on hand. Thus
betwixt departing and coming hosts McClellan's duty was not to use an
army, but to create one.
The task looked immeasurable, but there was a fortunate fitness for it
upon both sides. The men who in this awful crisis were answering the
summons of President Lincoln constituted a raw material of a kind such
as never poured into any camp save possibly into that of Cromwell. For
the most part they were courageous, intelligent, self-respecting
citizens, who were under the noble compulsion of conscience and
patriotism in leaving reputable and prosperous callings for a military
career. The moral, mental, and physical average of such a body of men
was a long way above that of professional armies, and insured readiness
in acquiring their new calling. But admirable as were the latent
possibilities, and apt as each individual might be, these multitudes
arrived wholly uninstructed; few had even so much as seen a real
soldier; none had any notion at all of what military discipline was, or
how to handle arms, or to manoeuvre, or to take care of their health.
Nor could they easily get instruction in these things, for officers knew
no more than privates; indeed, for that matter, one of the great
difficulties at first encountered lay in the large proportion of utterly
unfit men who had succeeded in getting commissions, and who had to be
toilfully eliminated.
That which was to be done, McClellan was well able to do. He had a
passion for organization, and fine capacity for work; he showed tact and
skill in dealing with subordinates; he had a thorough knowledge and a
high ideal of what an army should be. He seemed the Genius of Order as
he educated and arranged the chaotic gathering of human beings, who came
before him to be transmuted from farmers, merchants, clerks,
shopkeepers, and what not into soldiers of all arms and into leaders of
soldiers. To that host in chrysalis he was what each skillful
drill-master is to his awkward squad. Under his influence privates
learned how to obey and officers how to command; each individual merged
the sense of individuality in that of homogeneousness and cohesion,
until the original loose association of units became one grand unit
endowed with the solidarity and machine-like quality of an efficient
army. Patient labor produced a result so excellent that General Meade
said long afterward: "Had there been no McClellan there could have been
no Grant, for the army made no essential improvement under any of his
successors."
That the formation of this great complex machine was indispensable, and
that it would take much time, were facts which the disaster at Bull Run
had compelled both the administration and the people to appreciate
moderately well. Accordingly they resolutely set themselves to be
patient. The cry of "On to Richmond!" no longer sounded through the
land, and the restraint imposed by the excited masses upon their own
ardor was the strongest evidence of their profound earnestness. In a
steady stream they poured men and material into the camps in Virginia,
and they heard with satisfaction of the advance of the levies in
discipline and soldierly efficiency. For a while the scene was pleasant
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 chiefly to Stanton, in part to the Committee on the
Conduct of the War. Apparently Mr. Lincoln desired to know as little as
possible about a wrong which he could not set right without injury to
the public interests. He said to Stanton concerning the arrest: "I
suppose you have good reasons for it, and having good reasons I am glad
I knew nothing of it until it was done." To General Stone himself he
said that, if he should tell all he knew about it, he should not tell
much. Colonel Baker, senator from Oregon, a personal friend of the
President, a brilliant orator, and a man beloved and admired by all who
knew him, was a favorable specimen of the great body of new civilian
officers. While brimming over with gallantry and enthusiasm, he was
entirely ignorant of the military art. In the conduct of this enterprise
a considerable discretion had been reposed in him, and he had, as was
altogether natural, failed in everything except courage. But as he paid
with his life on the battlefield the penalty of his daring and his
inexperience, he was thought of only with tenderness and regret.
This skirmish illustrated the scant trust which could yet be reposed in
the skill and judgment of subordinate officers. The men behaved with
encouraging spirit and constancy under severe trial. But could a
commander venture upon a campaign with brigadier-generals and colonels
so unfit to assume responsibility?
Nevertheless impatience hardly received a momentary check from this
lesson. With some inconsistency, people placed unlimited confidence in
McClellan's capacity to beat the enemy, but no confidence at all in his
judgment as to the feasibility of a forward movement. The grumbling did
not, however, indicate that faith in him was shaken, for just now he was
given promotion by Mr. Lincoln, and it met with general approval. For
some time past it had been a cause of discomfort that he did not get on
altogether smoothly with General Scott; the elder was irascible and
jealous, the younger certainly not submissive. At last, on October 31,
the old veteran regretfully but quite wisely availed himself of his
right to be placed upon the retired list, and immediately, November 1,
General McClellan succeeded him in the distinguished position of
commander-in-chief (under the President) of all the armies of the United
States. On the same day Mr. Lincoln courteously hastened out to
headquarters to make in person congratulations which were unquestionably
as sincere as they were generous. Every one felt that a magnificent
opportunity was given to a favorite general. But unfortunately among all
his admirers there was not one who believed in him quite so fully as he
believed in himself; he lost all sense of perspective and proportion,
and felt upon a pinnacle from which he could look down even on a
president.[147] Being in this masterful temper, he haughtily disregarded
the growing demand for an advance. On the other hand the politicians,
always eager to minister to the gratification of the people, began to be
importunate; they harried the President, and went out to camp to prick
their civilian spurs into the general himself. But McClellan had a
soldierly contempt for such intermeddling in matters military, and was
wholly unimpressible. When Senator Wade said that an unsuccessful battle
was preferable to delay, for that a defeat would easily be repaired by
swarming recruits, the general tartly replied that he preferred a few
recruits before a victory to a great many after a defeat. But, however
cleverly and fairly the military man might counter upon the politician,
there was no doubt that discontent was developing dangerously. The
people had conscientiously intended to do their part fully, and a large
proportion of them now sincerely believed that they had done it. They
knew that they had been lavish of men, money, and supplies; and they
thought that they had been not less liberal of time; wherefore they
rebelled against the contrary opinion of the general, whose ideal of a
trustworthy army had by no means been reached, and who, being of a
stubborn temperament, would not stir till it had been.
It is difficult to satisfy one's self of the real fitness of the army
to move at or about this time,--that is to say, in or near the month of
November, 1861,--for the evidence is mixed and conflicting. The
Committee on the Conduct of the War asserted that "the army of the
Potomac was well armed and equipped and had reached a high state of
discipline by the last of September or first of October;" but the
committee was not composed of experts. Less florid commendation is given
by the Comte de Paris, of date October 15. McClellan himself said: "It
certainly was not till late in November that the army was in any
condition to move, nor even then were they capable of assaulting
intrenched positions." At that time winter was at hand, and advance was
said to be impracticable. That these statements were as favorable as
possible seems probable; for it is familiar knowledge that the call for
these troops did not issue until July, that at the close of November the
recruits were still continuing "to pour in, to be assigned and equipped
and instructed;"[148] that many came unarmed or with useless weapons;
and that these "civilians, suddenly called to arms as soldiers and
officers, did not take kindly to the subordination and restraints of the
camp."[149] Now McClellan's temperament did not lead him to run risks in
the effort to force achievements with means of dubious adequacy. His
purpose was to create a machine perfect in every part, sure and
irresistible in operation, and then to set it in motion with a
certainty of success. He wrote to Lincoln: "I have ever regarded our
true policy as being that of fully preparing ourselves, and then seeking
for the most decisive results."[150] Under favoring circumstances this
plan might have been the best. But circumstances were not favoring.
Neither he nor the government itself, nor indeed both together, could
afford long or far to disregard popular feeling. Before the close of
November that popular feeling was such that the people would have
endured without flinching the discouragement of a defeat, but would not
endure the severe tax of inaction, and from this time forth their
impatience gathered volume until it became a controlling element in the
situation. Themselves intending to be reasonable, they grew more and
more convinced that McClellan was unreasonable. General and people
confronted each other: the North would fight, at the risk of defeat;
McClellan would not fight, because he was not sure to win. Any one who
comprehended the conditions, the institutions of the country, the
character of the nation, especially its temper concerning the present
conflict, also the necessities beneath which that conflict must be
waged, if it was to be waged at all, would have seen that the people
must be deferred to. The question was not whether they were right or
wrong. Assuming them to be wrong, it would still be a mistake to
withstand them beyond a certain point. If yielding to them should
result in disastrous consequences, they must be called upon to rally,
and could be trusted to do so, instructed but undismayed by their
experience. All this McClellan utterly failed to appreciate, thereby
leading Mr. Swinton very justly to remark that he was lacking in "the
statesmanlike qualities that enter into the composition of a great
general."[151]
On the other hand, no man ever lived more capable than Mr. Lincoln of
precisely appreciating the present facts, or more sure to avoid those
peculiar blunders which entrapped the military commander. He was very
loyal in living up to his pledge to give the general full support, and
by his conduct during many months to come he proved his readiness to
abide to the last possible point. He knew, however, with unerring
accuracy just where that last point lay, and he saw with disquietude
that it was being approached too rapidly. He was getting sufficient
knowledge of McClellan's character to see that the day was not distant
when he must interfere. Meantime he kept his sensitive finger upon the
popular pulse, as an expert physician watches a patient in a fever. With
the growth of the impatience his anxiety grew, for the people's war
would not be successfully fought by a dissatisfied people. Repeatedly he
tested the situation in the hope that a movement could be forced
without undue imprudence; but he was always met by objections from
McClellan. In weighing the Northern and the Southern armies against each
other, the general perhaps undervalued his own resources and certainly
overvalued those of his opponent. He believed that the Confederate
"discipline and drill were far better than our own;" wherein he was
probably in error, for General Lee admitted that, while the Southerners
would always fight well, they were refractory under discipline.
Moreover, they were at this time very ill provided with equipment and
transportation. Also McClellan said that the Southern army had thrown up
intrenchments at Manassas and Centreville, and therefore the "problem
was to attack victorious and finely drilled troops in intrenchment." But
the most discouraging and inexplicable assertion, which he emphatically
reiterated, concerned the relative numerical strength. He not only
declared that he himself could not put into the field the numbers shown
by the official returns to be with him, but also he exaggerated the
Southern numbers till he became extravagant to the point of absurdity.
So it had been from the outset, and so it continued to be to the time
when he was at last relieved of his command. Thus, on August 15, he
conceived himself to be "in a terrible place; the enemy have three or
four times my force." September 9 he imagined Johnston to have 130,000
men, against his own 85,000; and he argued that Johnston could move
upon Baltimore a column 100,000 strong, which he could meet with only
60,000 or 70,000. Later in October he marked the Confederates up to
150,000. He estimated his own requirement at a "total effective force"
of 208,000 men, which implied "an aggregate, present and absent, of
about 240,000 men." Of these he designed 150,000 as a "column of active
operations;" the rest were for garrisons and guards. He said that in
fact he had a gross aggregate of 168,318, and the "force present for
duty was 147,695." Since the garrisons and the guards were a fixed
number, the reduction fell wholly upon the movable column, and reduced
"the number disposable for an advance to 76,285." Thus he made himself
out to be fatally overmatched. But he was excessively in error. In the
autumn Johnston's effective force was only 41,000 men, and on December
1, 1861, it was 47,000.[152]
Such comparisons, advanced with positiveness by the highest authority,
puzzled Mr. Lincoln. They seemed very strange, yet he could not disprove
them, and was therefore obliged to face the perplexing choice which was
mercilessly set before him: "either to go into winter quarters, or to
assume the offensive with forces greatly inferior in number" to what
was "desirable and necessary." "If political considerations render the
first course unadvisable, the second alone remains." The general's most
cheering admission was that, by stripping all other armies down to the
lowest numbers absolutely necessary for a strict defensive, and by
concentrating all the forces of the nation and all the attention of the
government upon "the vital point" in Virginia, it might yet be possible
for this "main army, whose destiny it [was] to decide the
controversy,... to move with a reasonable prospect of success before the
winter is fairly upon us." A direct assertion of impossibility,
provocative of denial or discussion, would have been less disheartening.
In passing, it may be remarked that McClellan's prevision that the
ultimate arbitrament of the struggle must occur in Virginia was correct.
But in another point he was wrong, and unfortunately this was of more
immediate consequence, because it corroborated him in his purpose to
delay till he could make success a certainty. He hoped that when he
moved, he should be able to win one or two overwhelming victories, to
capture Richmond, and to crush the rebellion in a few weeks. It was a
brilliant and captivating programme,[153] but impracticable and
undesirable. Even had the Southerners been quelled by so great a
disaster,--which was not likely,--they would not have been thoroughly
conquered, nor would slavery have been disposed of, and both these
events were indispensable to a definitive peace between the two
sections. Whether the President shared this notion of his general is not
evident. Apparently he was not putting his mind upon theories reaching
into the future so much as he was devoting his whole thought to dealing
with the urgent problems of the present. If this was the case, he was
pursuing the wise and sound course. In the situation, it was more
desirable to fight a great battle at the earliest possible moment than
to await a great victory many months hence.
It is commonplace wisdom that it is foolish for a civilian to undertake
the direction of a war. Yet our Constitution ordains that "the President
shall be commander-in-chief of the army and navy of the United States,
and of the militia of the several States, when called into the actual
service of the United States." It is not supposable that the delegates
who suggested this function, or the people who ordained it, anticipated
that presidents generally would be men skilled in military science.
Therefore Mr. Lincoln could not escape the obligation on the ground of
unfitness for the duty which was imperatively placed upon him. It might
be true that to set him in charge of military operations was like
ordering a merchant to paint a picture or a jockey to sail a ship, but
it was also true that he was so set in charge. He could not shirk it,
nor did he try to shirk it. In consequence hostile critics have dealt
mercilessly with his actions, and the history of this winter and spring
of 1861-62 is a painful and confusing story of bitter controversy and
crimination. Further it is to be remembered that, apart from the
obligation imposed on the President by the Constitution, it was true
that if civilians could not make rapid progress in the military art, the
war might as well be abandoned. They were already supposed to be doing
so; General Banks, a politician, and General Butler, a lawyer, were
already conducting important movements. Still it remains undeniable that
finally it was only the professional soldiers who, undergoing
successfully the severe test of time, composed the illustrious front
rank of strategists when the close of the war left every man in his
established place. In discussing this perplexing period, extremists upon
one side attribute the miscarriages and failure of McClellan's campaign
to ceaseless, thwarting interference by the President, the secretary of
war, and other civil officials. Extremists upon the other side allege
the marvel that a sudden development of unerring judgment upon every
question involving the practical application of military science took
place on Mr. Lincoln's part.[154] Perhaps the truth lies between the
disputants, but it is not likely ever to be definitely agreed upon so
long as the controversy excites interest; for the discussion bristles
with _ifs_, and where this is the case no advocate can be irremediably
vanquished.
It seems right, at this place, to note one fact concerning Mr. Lincoln
which ought not to be overlooked and which cannot be denied. This is his
entire _political unselfishness_, the rarest moral quality among men in
public life. In those days of trouble and distrust slanders were rife in
a degree which can hardly be appreciated by men whose experience has
been only with quieter times. Sometimes purposes and sometimes methods
were assailed; and those prominent in civil life, and a few also in
military life, were believed to be artfully and darkly seeking to
interlace their personal political fortunes in the web of public
affairs, naturally subordinating the latter fabric. Alliances, enmities,
intrigues, schemes, and every form of putting the interest of self
before that of the nation, were insinuated with a bitter malevolence
unknown except amid such abnormal conditions. The few who escaped
charges of this kind were believed to cherish their own peculiar
fanaticisms, desires, and purposes concerning the object and results of
the struggle, which they were resolved to satisfy at almost any cost and
by almost any means. While posterity is endeavoring very wisely to
discredit and to forget a great part of these painful criminations, it
is cheering to find that no effort has to be made to forget anything
about the President. In his case injurious gossip has long since died
away and been buried. Whatever may be said of him in other respects, at
least the purity and the singleness of his patriotism shine brilliant
and luminous through all this cloud-dust of derogation. By his position
he had more at stake, both in his lifetime and before the tribunal of
the future, than any other person in the country. But there was only one
idea in his mind, and that was,--not that _he should save the country_,
but _that the country should be saved_. Not the faintest shadow of self
ever fell for an instant across this simple purpose. He was intent to
play his part out faithfully, with all the ability he could bring to it;
but any one else, who could, might win and wear the title of savior. He
chiefly cared that the saving should be done. Never once did he
manipulate any covert magnet to draw toward himself the credit or the
glory of a measure or a move. To his own future he seemed to give no
thought. It would be unjust to allow the dread of appearing to utter
eulogy rather than historic truth to betray a biographer into
overlooking this genuine magnanimity.
* * * * *
It was in December, 1861, that Congress created the famous Committee on
the Conduct of the War, to some of whose doings it has already been
necessary to allude. The gentlemen who were placed upon it were selected
partly of course for political reasons, and were all men who had made
themselves conspicuous for their enthusiasm and vehemence; not one of
them had any military knowledge. The committee magnified its office
almost beyond limit,--investigated everything; haled whom it chose to
testify before it; made reports, expressed opinions, insisted upon
policies and measures in matters military; and all with a dictatorial
assumption and self-confidence which could not be devoid of effect,
although every one knew that each individual member was absolutely
without fitness for this business. So the committee made itself a great
power, and therefore also a great complication, in the war machinery;
and though it was sometimes useful, yet, upon a final balancing of its
long account, it failed to justify its existence, as, indeed, was to
have been expected from the outset.[155] In the present discussions
concerning an advance of the army, its members strenuously insisted upon
immediate action, and their official influence brought much strength to
that side.
The first act indicating an intention on the part of the President to
interfere occurred almost simultaneously with the beginning of the
general's illness. About December 21, 1861, he handed to McClellan a
brief memorandum: "If it were determined to make a forward movement of
the army of the Potomac, without awaiting further increase of numbers
or better drill and discipline, how long would it require to actually
get in motion? After leaving all that would be necessary, how many
troops could join the movement from southwest of the river? How many
from northeast of it?" Then he proceeded briefly to hint rather than
distinctly to suggest that plan of a direct advance by way of
Centreville and Manassas, which later on he persistently advocated. Ten
days elapsed before McClellan returned answers, which then came in a
shape too curt to be respectful. Almost immediately afterward the
general fell ill, an occurrence which seemed to his detractors a most
aggravating and unjustifiable intervention of Nature herself in behalf
of his policy of delay.
On January 10 a dispatch from General Halleck represented in his
department also a condition of check and helplessness. Lincoln noted
upon it: "Exceedingly discouraging. As everywhere else, nothing can be
done." Yet something must be done, for the game was not to be abandoned.
Under this pressure, on this same day, he visited McClellan, but could
not see him; nor could he get any definite idea how long might be the
duration of the typhoid fever, the lingering and uncertain disease which
had laid the general low. Accordingly he summoned General McDowell and
General Franklin to discuss with him that evening the military
situation. The secretaries of state and of the treasury, and the
assistant secretary of war, also came. The President, says McDowell,
"was greatly disturbed at the state of affairs," "was in great
distress," and said that, "if something was not soon done, the bottom
would be out of the whole affair; and if General McClellan did not want
to use the army, he would like to '_borrow it_,' provided he could see
how it could be made to do something." The two generals were directed to
inform themselves concerning the "actual condition of the army," and to
come again the next day. Conferences followed on January 11 and 12,
Postmaster-General Blair and General Meigs being added to the council.
The postmaster-general condemned a direct advance as "strategically
defective," while Chase descanted on the "moral power" of a victory. The
picture of the two civilians injecting their military suggestions is not
reassuring. Meigs is somewhat vaguely reported to have favored a "battle
in front."
McDowell and Franklin had not felt justified in communicating these
occurrences to McClellan, because the President had marked his order to
them "private and confidential." But the commander heard rumors of what
was going forward,[156] and on January 12 he came from his sick-room to
see the President; he was "looking quite well," and apparently was "able
to assume the charge of the army." The apparition put a different
complexion upon the pending discussions. On the 13th the same gentlemen
met, but now with the addition of General McClellan. The situation was
embarrassing. McClellan took scant pains to conceal his resentment.
McDowell, at the request of the President, explained what he thought
could be done, closing "by saying something apologetic;" to which
McClellan replied, "somewhat coldly if not curtly: 'You are entitled to
have any opinion you please.'" Secretary Chase, a leader among the
anti-McClellanites, bluntly asked the general to explain his military
plans in detail; but McClellan declined to be interrogated except by the
President, or by the secretary of war, who was not present. Finally,
according to McClellan's account, which differs a little but not
essentially from that of McDowell, Mr. Lincoln suggested[157] that he
should tell what his plans were. McClellan replied, in substance, that
this would be imprudent and seemed unnecessary, and that he would only
give information if the President would order him in writing to do so,
and would assume the responsibility for the results.[158] McDowell adds
(but McClellan does not), that the President then asked McClellan "if he
had counted upon any particular time; he did not ask what that time was,
but had he in his own mind any particular time fixed, when a movement
could be commenced. He replied, he had. 'Then,' rejoined the President,
'I will adjourn this meeting.'" This unfortunate episode aggravated the
discord, and removed confidence and coöperation farther away than ever
before.
The absence of the secretary of war from these meetings was due to the
fact that a change in the War Department was in process
contemporaneously with them. The President had been allowed to
understand that Mr. Cameron did not find his duties agreeable, and might
prefer a diplomatic post. Accordingly, with no show of reluctance, Mr.
Lincoln, on January 11, 1862, offered to Mr. Cameron the post of
minister to Russia. It was promptly accepted, and on January 13 Edwin M.
Stanton was nominated and confirmed to fill the vacancy.[159] The
selection was a striking instance of the utter absence of vindictiveness
which so distinguished Mr. Lincoln, who, in fact, was simply insensible
to personal feeling as an influence. In choosing incumbents for public
trusts, he knew no foe, perhaps no friend; but as dispassionately as if
he were manoeuvring pieces on a chessboard, he considered only which
available piece would serve best in the square which he had to fill. In
1859 he and Stanton had met as associate counsel in perhaps the most
important lawsuit in which Mr. Lincoln had ever been concerned, and
Stanton had treated Lincoln with his habitual insolence.[160] Later,
in the trying months which closed the year 1861, Stanton had abused the
administration with violence, and had carried his revilings of the
President even to the point of coarse personal insults.[161] No man, not
being a rebel, had less right to expect an invitation to become an
adviser of the President; and most men, who had felt or expressed the
opinions held by Mr. Stanton, would have had scruples or delicacy about
coming into the close relationship of confidential adviser with the
object of their contempt; but neither scruples nor delicacy delayed him;
his acceptance was prompt.[162]
[Illustration: Edwin M. Stanton]
So Mr. Lincoln had chosen his secretary solely upon the belief of the
peculiar fitness of the individual for the special duties of the war
office. Upon the whole the choice was wisely made, and was evidence of
Mr. Lincoln's insight into the aptitudes and the uses of men. Stanton's
abilities commanded some respect, though his character never excited
either respect or liking; just now, however, all his good qualities and
many of his faults seemed precisely adapted to the present requirements
of his department. He had been a Democrat, but was now zealous to
extremity in patriotism; in his dealings with men he was capable of much
duplicity, yet in matters of business he was rigidly honest, and it was
his pleasure to protect the treasury against the contractors; he loved
work, and never wearied amid the driest and most exacting toil; he was
prompt and decisive rather than judicial or correct in his judgments
concerning men and things; he was arbitrary, harsh, bad-tempered, and
impulsive; he often committed acts of injustice or cruelty, for which he
rarely made amends, and still more rarely seemed disturbed by remorse or
regret. These traits bore hard upon individuals; but ready and
unscrupulous severity was supposed to have its usefulness in a civil
war. Many a time he taxed the forbearance of the President to a degree
that would have seemed to transcend the uttermost limit of human
patience, if Mr. Lincoln had not taken these occasions to show to the
world how forbearing and patient it is possible for man to be. But those
who knew the relations of the two men are agreed that Stanton, however
browbeating he was to others, recognized a master in the President, and,
though often grumbling and insolent, always submitted if a crisis came.
Undoubtedly Mr. Lincoln was the only ruler known to history who could
have coöperated for years with such a minister. He succeeded in doing so
because he believed it to be for the good of the cause, to which he
could easily subordinate all personal considerations; and posterity,
agreeing with him, concedes to Stanton credit for efficiency in the
conduct of his department.
It is worth while here to pause long enough to read part of a letter
which, on this same crowded thirteenth day of January, 1862, the
President sent to General Halleck, in the West: "For my own views: I
have not offered, and do not now offer, them as orders; and while I am
glad to have them respectfully considered, I would blame you to follow
them contrary to your own clear judgment, unless I should put them in
the form of orders.... With this preliminary, I state my general idea of
this war to be that we have the greater numbers and the enemy has the
greater facility of concentrating forces upon points of collision; that
we must fail unless we can find some way of making our advantage an
overmatch for his; and that this can only be done by menacing him with
superior forces at different points at the same time, so that we can
safely attack one or both if he makes no change; and if he weakens one
to strengthen the other, forbear to attack the strengthened one, but
seize and hold the weakened one, gaining so much."
In a personal point of view this short letter is pregnant with interest
and suggestion. The writer's sad face, eloquent of the charge and burden
of one of the most awful destinies of human-kind, rises before us as we
read the expression of his modest self-distrust amid the strange duties
of military affairs. But closely following this comes the intimation
that in due time "_orders_" will come. Such was the quiet, unflinching
way in which Lincoln always faced every test, apparently with a tranquil
and assured faith that, whatever might seem his lack of fitting
preparation, his best would be adequate to the occasion. The habit has
led many to fancy that he believed himself divinely chosen, and
therefore sure of infallible guidance; but it is observable far back,
almost from the beginning of his life; it was a trait of mind and
character, nothing else. The letter closes with a broad general theory
concerning the war, wrought out by that careful process of thinking
whereby he was wont to make his way to the big, simple, and fundamental
truth. The whole is worth holding in memory through the narrative of the
coming weeks.
The conference of January 13 developed a serious difference of opinion
as to the plan of campaign, whenever a campaign should be entered upon.
The President's notion, already shadowed forth in his memorandum of
December, was to move directly upon the rebel army at Centreville and
Manassas and to press it back upon Richmond, with the purpose of
capturing that city. But McClellan presented as his project a movement
by Urbana and West Point, using the York River as a base of supplies.
General McDowell and Secretary Chase favored the President's plan;
General Franklin and Postmaster Blair thought better of McClellan's. The
President had a strong fancy for his own scheme, because by it the Union
army was kept between the enemy and Washington; and therefore the
supreme point of importance, the safety of the national capital, was
insured. The discussion, which was thus opened and which remained long
unsettled, had, among other ill effects, that of sustaining the
vexatious delay. While the anti-McClellan faction--for the matter was
becoming one of factions[163]--grew louder in denunciation of his
inaction, and fastened upon him the contemptuous nickname of "the
Virginia creeper," the friends of the general retorted that the
President, meddling in what he did not understand, would not let the
military commander manage the war.
Nevertheless Mr. Lincoln, dispassionate and fair-minded as usual,
allowed neither their personal difference of opinion nor this abusive
outcry to inveigle into his mind any prejudice against McClellan. The
Southerner who, in February, 1861, predicted that Lincoln "would do his
own thinking," read character well. Lincoln was now doing precisely this
thing, in his silent, thorough, independent way, neither provoked by
McClellan's cavalier assumption of superior knowledge, nor alarmed by
the danger of offending the politicians. In fact, he decided to go
counter to both the disputants; for he resolved, on the one hand, to
compel McClellan to act; on the other, to maintain him in his command.
He did not, however, abandon his own plan of campaign. On January 27, as
commander-in-chief of the army, he issued his "General War Order No. 1."
In this he directed "that the 22d day of February, 1862, be the day for
a general movement of the land and naval forces of the United States
against the insurgent forces;" and said that heads of departments and
military and naval commanders would "be held to their strict and full
responsibilities for prompt execution of this order." By this he
practically repudiated McClellan's scheme, because transportation and
other preparations for pursuing the route by Urbana could not be made
ready by the date named.
Critics of the President have pointed to this document as a fine
instance of the follies to be expected from a civil ruler who conducts a
war. To order an advance all along a line from the Mississippi to the
Atlantic, upon a day certain, without regard to differing local
conditions and exigencies, and to notify the enemy of the purpose nearly
a month beforehand, were acts preposterous according to military
science. But the criticism was not so fair as it was obvious. The order
really bore in part the character of a manifesto; to the people of the
North, whose confidence must be kept and their spirit sustained, it
said that the administration meant action at once; to commanding
officers it was a fillip, warning them to bestir themselves, obstacles
to the contrary notwithstanding. It was a reveille. Further, in a
general way it undoubtedly laid out a sound plan of campaign,
substantially in accordance with that which McClellan also was evolving,
viz.: to press the enemy all along the western and middle line, and thus
to prevent his making too formidable a concentration in Virginia. In the
end, however, practicable or impracticable, wise or foolish, the order
was never fulfilled. The armies in Virginia did nothing till many weeks
after the anniversary of Washington's birthday; whereas, in the West,
Admiral Foote and General Grant did not conceive that they were enforced
to rest in idleness until that historic date. Before it arrived they had
performed the brilliant exploits of capturing Fort Henry and Fort
Donelson.
On January 31 the President issued "Special War Order No. 1," directing
the army of the Potomac to seize and occupy "a point upon the railroad
southwestward of what is known as Manassas Junction;... the expedition
to move before or on the 22d day of February next." This was the
distinct, as the general order had been the indirect, adoption of his
own plan of campaign, and the overruling of that of the general.
McClellan at once remonstrated, and the two rival plans thus came face
to face for immediate and definitive settlement. It must be assumed
that the President's order had been really designed only to force
exactly this issue; for on February 3, so soon as he received the
remonstrance, he invited argument from the general by writing to him a
letter which foreshadowed an open-minded reception for views opposed to
his own:--
"If you will give satisfactory answers to the following questions, I
shall gladly yield my plan to yours:--
"1st. Does not your plan involve a greatly larger expenditure of _time_
and _money_ than mine?
"2d. Wherein is a victory _more certain_ by your plan than mine?
"3d. Wherein is a victory _more valuable_ by your plan than mine?
"4th. In fact, would it not be _less_ valuable in this: that it would
break no great line of the enemy's communications, while mine would?
"5th. In case of disaster would not a retreat be more difficult by your
plan than mine?"
To these queries McClellan replied by a long and elaborate exposition of
his views. He said that, if the President's plan should be pursued
successfully, the "results would be confined to the possession of the
field of battle, the evacuation of the line of the upper Potomac by the
enemy, and the moral effect of the victory." On the other hand, a
movement in force by the route which he advocated "obliges the enemy to
abandon his intrenched position at Manassas, in order to hasten to
cover Richmond and Norfolk." That is to say, he expected to achieve by a
manoeuvre what the President designed to effect by a battle, to be
fought by inexperienced troops against an intrenched enemy. He
continued: "This movement, if successful, gives us the capital, the
communications, the supplies, of the rebels; Norfolk would fall; all the
waters of the Chesapeake would be ours; all Virginia would be in our
power, and the enemy forced to abandon Tennessee and North Carolina. The
alternative presented to the enemy would be, to beat us in a position
selected by ourselves, disperse, or pass beneath the Caudine forks." In
case of defeat the Union army would have a "perfectly secure retreat
down the Peninsula upon Fort Monroe." "This letter," he afterward wrote,
"must have produced some effect upon the mind of the President!" The
slur was unjust. The President now and always considered the views of
the general with a liberality of mind rarely to be met with in any man,
and certainly never in McClellan himself. In this instance the letter
did in fact produce so much "effect upon the mind of the President" that
he prepared to yield views which he held very strongly to views which he
was charged with not being able to understand, and which he certainly
could not bring himself actually to believe in.
Yet before quite taking this step he demanded that a council of the
generals of division should be summoned to express their opinions. This
was done, with the result that McDowell, Sumner, Heintzelman, and
Barnard voted against McClellan's plan; Keyes voted for it, with the
proviso "that no change should be made until the rebels were driven from
their batteries on the Potomac." Fitz-John Porter, Franklin, W.F. Smith,
McCall, Blenker, Andrew Porter, and Naglee (of Hooker's division) voted
for it. Stanton afterward said of this: "We saw ten generals afraid to
fight." The insult, delivered in the snug personal safety which was
suspected to be very dear to Stanton, was ridiculous as aimed at men who
soon handled some of the most desperate battles of the war; but it is
interesting as an expression of the unreasoning bitterness of the
controversy then waging over the situation in Virginia, a controversy
causing animosities vastly more fierce than any between Union soldiers
and Confederates, animosities which have unfortunately lasted longer,
and which can never be brought to the like final and conclusive
arbitrament. The purely military question quickly became snarled up with
politics and was reduced to very inferior proportions in the noxious
competition. "Politics entered and strategy retired," says General Webb,
too truly. McClellan himself conceived that the politicians were leagued
to destroy him, and would rather see him discredited than the rebels
whipped. In later days the strong partisan loves and hatreds of our
historical writers have perpetuated and increased all this bad blood,
confusion, and obscurity.
The action of the council of generals was conclusive. The President
accepted McClellan's plan. Therein he did right; for undeniably it was
his duty to allow his own inexperience to be controlled by the
deliberate opinion of the best military experts in the country; and this
fact is wholly independent of any opinion concerning the intrinsic or
the comparative merits of the plans themselves. Indeed, Mr. Lincoln had
never expressed positive disapproval of McClellan's plan _per se_, but
only had been alarmed at what seemed to him its indirect result in
exposing the capital. To cover this point, he now made an imperative
preliminary condition that this safety should be placed beyond a
question. He was emphatic and distinct in reiterating this proviso as
fundamental. The preponderance of professional testimony, from that day
to this, has been to the effect that McClellan's strategy was sound and
able, and that Mr. Lincoln's anxiety for the capital was groundless. But
in spite of all argument, and though military men may shed ink as if it
were mere blood, in spite even of the contempt and almost ridicule which
the President incurred at the pen of McClellan,[164] the civilian will
retain a lurking sympathy with the President's preference. It is
impossible not to reflect that precisely in proportion as the safety of
the capital, for many weighty reasons, immeasurably outweighed any other
possible consideration in the minds of the Northerners, so the desire to
capture it would be equally overmastering in the estimation of the
Southerners. Why might not the rebels permit McClellan to march into
Richmond, provided that at the same time they were marching into
Washington? Why might they not, in the language afterward used by
General Lee, "swap Queens?" They would have a thousand fold the better
of the exchange. The Northern Queen was an incalculably more valuable
piece on the board than was her Southern rival. With the Northern
government in flight, Maryland would go to the Confederacy, and European
recognition would be sure and immediate; and these two facts might,
almost surely would, be conclusive against the Northern cause. Moreover,
memory will obstinately bring up the fact that long afterward, when
General Grant was pursuing a route to Richmond strategically not
dissimilar to that proposed by McClellan, and when all the circumstances
made the danger of a successful attack upon Washington much less than it
was in the spring of 1862, the rebels actually all but captured the
city; and it was saved not alone by a rapidity of movement which would
have been impossible in the early stages of the war, but also by what
must be called the aid of good luck. It is difficult to see why General
Jackson in 1862 might not have played in fatal earnest a game which in
1864 General Early played merely for the chances. Pondering upon these
things, it is probable that no array of military scientists will ever
persuade the non-military world that Mr. Lincoln was so timid, or so
dull-witted, or so unreasonable, as General McClellan declared him to
be.
Another consideration is suggested by some remarks of Mr. Swinton. It is
tolerably obvious that, whether McClellan's plan was or was not the
better, the President's plan was entirely possible; all that could be
said against it was that it promised somewhat poorer results at somewhat
higher cost. This being the case, and in view of the fact that the
President's disquietude concerning Washington was so profound and his
distrust of McClellan's plan so ineradicable, it would have been much
better to have had the yielding come from the general than from the
President. A man of less stubborn temper and of broader intellect than
belonged to McClellan would have appreciated this. In fact, it was in a
certain sense even poor generalship to enter upon a campaign of such
magnitude, when a thorough and hearty coöperation was really not to be
expected. For after all might be ostensibly settled and agreed upon, and
however honest might be Mr. Lincoln's intentions to support the
commanding general, one thing still remained certain: that the safety of
the capital was Mr. Lincoln's weightiest responsibility, that it was a
matter concerning which he was sensitively anxious, and that he was
perfectly sure in any moment of alarm concerning that safety to insure
it by any means in his power and at any sacrifice whatsoever. In a word,
that which soon did happen was precisely that which ought to have been
foreseen as likely to happen. For it was entirely obvious that Mr.
Lincoln did not abandon his own scheme because his own reason was
convinced of the excellence of McClellan's; in fact, he never was and
never pretended to be thus convinced. To his mind, McClellan's reasoning
never overcame his own reasoning; he only gave way before professional
authority; and, while he sincerely meant to give McClellan the most
efficient aid and backing in his power, the anxiety about Washington
rested immovable in his thought. If the two interests should ever, in
his opinion, come into competition, no one could doubt which would be
sacrificed. To push forward the Peninsula campaign under these
conditions was a terrible mistake of judgment on McClellan's part. Far
better would it have been to have taken the Manassas route; for even if
its inherent demerits were really so great as McClellan had depicted,
they would have been more than offset by preserving the undiminished
coöperation of the administration. The personal elements in the problem
ought to have been conclusive.
An indication of the error of forcing the President into a course not
commended by his judgment, in a matter where his responsibility was so
grave, was seen immediately. On March 8 he issued General War Order No.
3: That no change of base should be made "without leaving in and about
Washington such a force as, in the opinion of the general-in-chief and
the commanders of army corps, shall leave said city entirely secure;"
that not more than two corps (about 50,000 men) should be moved en route
for a new base until the Potomac, below Washington, should be freed from
the Confederate batteries; that any movement of the army via Chesapeake
Bay should begin as early as March 18, and that the general-in-chief
should be "responsible that it moves as early as that day." This greatly
aggravated McClellan's dissatisfaction; for it expressed the survival of
the President's anxiety, it hampered the general, and by its last clause
it placed upon him a responsibility not properly his own.
Yet at this very moment weighty evidence came to impeach the soundness
of McClellan's opinion concerning the military situation. On February 27
Secretary Chase wrote that the time had come for dealing decisively with
the "army in front of us," which he conceived to be already so weakened
that "a victory over it is deprived of half its honor." Not many days
after this writing, the civilian strategists, the President and his
friends, seemed entitled to triumph. For on March 7, 8, and 9 the North
was astonished by news of the evacuation of Manassas by Johnston. At
once the cry of McClellan's assailants went up: If McClellan had only
moved upon the place! What a cheap victory he would have won, and
attended with what invaluable "moral effects"! Yet, forsooth, he had
been afraid to move upon these very intrenched positions which it now
appeared that the Confederates dared not hold even when unthreatened!
But McClellan retorted that the rebels had taken this backward step
precisely because they had got some hint of his designs for advancing by
Urbana, and that it was the exact fulfillment, though inconveniently
premature, of his predictions. This explanation, however, wholly failed
to prevent the civilian mind from believing that a great point had been
scored on behalf of the President's plan. Further than this, there were
many persons, including even a majority of the members of the Committee
on the Conduct of the War, who did not content themselves with mere
abuse of McClellan's military intelligence, but who actually charged him
with being disaffected and nearly, if not quite, a traitor. None the
less Mr. Lincoln generously and patiently adhered to his agreement to
let McClellan have his own way.
Precisely at the same time that this evacuation of Manassas gave to
McClellan's enemies an argument against him which they deemed fair and
forcible and he deemed unfair and ignorant, two other occurrences added
to the strain of the situation. McClellan immediately put his entire
force in motion towards the lines abandoned by the Confederates, not
with the design of pressing the retreating foe, which the "almost
impassable roads" prevented, but to strip off redundancies and to train
the troops in marching. On March 11, immediately after he had started,
the President issued his Special War Order No. 3: "Major-General
McClellan having personally taken the field at the head of the army of
the Potomac,... he is relieved from the command of the other military
departments, he retaining command of the Department of the Potomac."
McClellan at once wrote that he should continue to "work just as
cheerfully as before;" but he felt that the removal was very
unhandsomely made just as he was entering upon active operations.
Lincoln, on the other hand, undoubtedly looked upon it in precisely the
opposite light, and conceived that the opportunity of the moment
deprived of any apparent sting a change which he had determined to make.
The duties which were thus taken from McClellan were assumed during
several months by Mr. Stanton. He was utterly incompetent for them, and,
whether or not it was wise to displace the general, it was certainly
very unwise to let the secretary practically succeed him.[165] The way
in which, both at the East and West, our forces were distributed into
many independent commands, with no competent chief who could compel all
to coöperate and to become subsidiary to one comprehensive scheme, was a
serious mistake in general policy, which cost very dear before it was
recognized.[166] McClellan had made some efforts to effect this
combination or unity in purpose, but Stanton gave no indication even of
understanding that it was desirable.
The other matter was the division of the army of the Potomac into four
army corps, to be commanded respectively by the four senior generals of
division, viz., McDowell, Sumner, Heintzelman, and Keyes. The propriety
of this action had been for some time under consideration, and the step
was now forced upon Mr. Lincoln by the strenuous insistence of the
Committee on the Conduct of the War. That so large an army required
organization by corps was admitted; but McClellan had desired to defer
the arrangement until his generals of division should have had some
actual experience in the field, whereby their comparative fitness for
higher responsibilities could be measured. An incapable corps commander
was a much more dangerous man than an incapable commander of a division
or brigade. The commander naturally felt the action now taken by the
President to be a slight, and he attributed it to pressure by the band
of civilian advisers whose untiring hostility he returned with
unutterable contempt. Not only was the taking of the step at this time
contrary to his advice, but he was not even consulted in the selection
of his own subordinates, who were set in these important positions by
the blind rule of seniority, and not in accordance with his opinion of
comparative merit. His irritation was perhaps not entirely
unjustifiable.
FOOTNOTES:
[146] A reconnoissance or "slight demonstration" ordered for the day
before by McClellan had been completed, and is not to be confounded with
this movement, for which he was not responsible.
[147] For example, see his _Own Story_, 82; but, unfortunately, one may
refer to that book _passim_ for evidence of the statement.
[148] N. and H. iv. 469.
[149] _Ibid._ v. 140.
[150] Letter to Lincoln, February 3, 1862.
[151] _Army of Potomac_, 97. Swinton says: "He should have made the
lightest possible draft on the indulgence of the people." _Ibid._ 69.
General Webb says: "He drew too heavily upon the faith of the public."
_The Peninsula_, 12.
[152] The Southern generals had a similar propensity to overestimate the
opposing force; _e.g._, Johnston's _Narrative_, 108, where he puts the
Northern force at 140,000, when in fact it was 58,000; and on p. 112 his
statement is even worse.
[153] The Southerners also had the same notion, hoping by one great
victory to discourage and convince the North and make peace on the basis
of independence; _e.g._, see Johnston's _Narrative_ 113, 115. Grant
likewise had the notion of a decisive battle. _Memoirs_, i. 368.
[154] The position taken by Messrs. Nicolay and Hay, I think, fully
warrants this language.
[155] General Palfrey says of this committee that "the worst spirit of
the Inquisition characterized their doings." _The Antietam and
Fredericksburg_ (Campaigns of Civil War Series), 182.
[156] Through Stanton; McClellan, _Own Story_, 156.
[157] Only a few days before this time Lincoln had said that he had no
"right" to insist upon knowing the general's plans. Julian, _Polit.
Recoll._ 201.
[158] It appears that he feared that what he said would leak out, and
ultimately reach the enemy.
[159] For an interesting account of these incidents, from Secretary
Chase's Diary, see Warden, 401.
[160] Lamon, 332; Herndon, 353-356; N. and H. try to mitigate this
story, v. 133.
[161] He did not always feel his tongue tied afterward by the
obligations of office; _e.g._, see Julian, _Polit. Recoll._ 210.
[162] For a singular tale, see McClellan, _Own Story_, 153.
[163] In fact, the feeling against McClellan was getting so strong that
some of his enemies were wild enough about this time to accuse him of
disloyalty. He himself narrates a dramatic tale, which would seem
incredible if his veracity were not beyond question, of an interview,
occurring March 8, 1862, in which the President told him, apparently
with the air of expecting an explanation, that he was charged with
laying his plans with the traitorous intent of leaving Washington
defenseless. McClellan's _Own Story_, 195. On the other hand, McClellan
retaliated by believing that his detractors wished, for political and
personal motives, to prevent the war from being brought to an early and
successful close, and that they intentionally withheld from him the
means of success; also that Stanton especially sought by underhand means
to sow misunderstanding between him and the President. _Ibid._ 195.
[164] McClellan afterward wrote that the administration "had neither
courage nor military insight to understand the effect of the plan I
desired to carry out." _Own Story_, 194. This is perhaps a mild example
of many remarks to the same purport which fell from the general at one
time and another.
[165] See remarks of Mr. Blaine, _Twenty Years of Congress_, i. 368.
[166] _E.g._, McClellan, _Rep._ (per Keyes), 82; Grant, _Mem._ i. 322;
and indeed all writers agree upon this.