THE wise men of Washington agreed that McDowell was not the general
we took him for, so we sent for George B. McClellan, who had been
whipping the rebels up in Northern Virginia. We felt sure that he
was the man who would whip the rebels for us, and gain us victories;
who would dispel the gloom hanging over the land, and bring us
plenty of sunshine. Indeed, my son, the nation began to feel very
happy in the possession of such a man; for, according to the
newspapers, he had displayed remarkable military traits when only a
boy, such as great attention to the study of maps, and the making of
little dirt piles. It was also added that while yet a youth he was
very obedient to his father, and affectionately fond of his mother.
And these excellent traits of character, in one so young, it was
held by our wise men, must, when improved and enlarged by manhood,
make the man, who had given his mind to the study of arms a great
general. So, my son, you see what an opportunity there is before
you.
Well, George came to us flush from the field of his glories, and we
proceeded at once to make him a hero before he had made us an army.
The nation recovered from its disappointment, the sky brightened,
the people began to send into the capital troops of a different
sort, and the general we had put our faith in went to work making an
army--the grand old Army of the Potomac. Now, my son, it was no small
job to make an army, and when you have made it to so improve its
drill and discipline that it will stand firm and fight well. It is
just as necessary, my son, to harden the constitution of a new army
as it is to so sharpen its digestion that it will relish the
coarsest of fare. And you can do neither of these things in a day.
You must also cultivate and improve the courage of a new army. And
this can only be done by experience in the field. General George
taught his army to do all these things, and do them well. And the
nation felt grateful to him for what he was doing, and sang songs in
his praise. And the army respected and loved General George. And
General George loved and was proud of his army. The sky of our hopes
brightened then, and the nation rejoiced and felt strong again. We
all felt that when spring came Mr. Beauregard and his men would be
driven to the wall; that we should march on and take Richmond; and
that General George was just the man to do it all for us.
Then an evil hour came. The nation got in an impatient mood. And
while General George was hardening the constitution of his army on
the banks of the Potomac, a great many restless, discontented, and
evil-disposed persons sprang up, declared that he was no general at
all, and that to command armies was the business of politicians, not
soldiers. During war every nation has its mischievous men, who, to
create notoriety for themselves, make war in their own way on the
great soldiers who are struggling to preserve its honor. These men
were our misfortune. They proceeded to make war on General George,
to persecute him, and to destroy his usefulness with the army. These
men affected to know a great deal about war; but I noticed, my son,
that they were very unwilling to shoulder a musket and face the
enemy. They wanted General George to move on in the middle of
winter, drive Mr. Beauregard out of Manassas, and take Richmond. And
all this while the mud was so deep that he could not drag his wagons
through it. George very sensibly refused to destroy his army in this
way. Indeed, he foresaw that to follow their advice would be to
bring the nation to grief a second time. This increased the
discontent and opposition of his enemies, who regarded it a great
grievance that a general would not follow their advice.
But George was not to be driven into the mud by a set of meddlesome
civilians, who knew nothing about war. And to show them that he was
not, he kept his army quiet, on the banks of the Potomac, all
winter. And in this position he contemplated Mr. Beauregard, and Mr.
Beauregard contemplated him, separated by twenty miles of mud. We
had not got our war eyes open then, my son. In truth, we had but a
very imperfect idea of what an amount of resistance a resolute and
determined foe, standing on the defensive, can offer.
When it was spring, and the birds had come back to us, and the
prospect looked bright and cheering, and the hopes of the nation ran
high, George mounted his horse, and, picking up his army, moved out
in the direction of Richmond, taking the overland route. He sent
word to Mr Beauregard to wait until he came and he would thrash him
out of Manassas. But Mr. Beauregard was not inclined to accommodate
George with a fight at that particular point, where his elbows were
so exposed, and stepped quietly out by the back door before George
got there. In short, all George saw of Mr. Beauregard and his men
was the tails of their coats and the heels of their boots, away in
the shadowy distance. People said Mr. Beauregard did not do the
clean thing to slip away in such a manner. And there were those who
scolded General George for letting him get off in this shabby way;
but how he was to prevent it I never could see. Mr. Beauregard was
kind enough to leave us an army of log houses, and his smouldering
camp fires, around which a number of sooty negroes were grouped,
shivering and forlorn. And these were all we had to be thankful to
him for.
A great storm arose while we were at Manassas. Snow, rain, and hail
fell, the wind blew cold and piercing, and the face of the country
became melancholy. And the army became melancholy, and sick, for it
was stuck in the mud, and was suffering for something to eat, though
so near Washington. And the poor animals got sick, and began dying,
for there was nothing for them to eat. There was no following Mr.
Beauregard to Richmond over such a muddy road, which looked very
long then, and very dangerous. George was put to his wits to know
what to do next. There was no persuading Mr. Beauregard to stop long
enough to let us strike him square in the stomach, so George hit
upon a great plan, whereby wonders were to be worked in the art of
strategy. He conceived the grand idea of taking his army to sea,
avoiding the mud, and after enjoying a pleasant voyage, finding a
shorter and better road to Richmond. We all know at what a
disadvantage you can take a man when you get in his rear. George
felt that if he could take advantage of this on an enlarged plan he
could have Mr. Beauregard just where he wanted him. That is, if he
could get in his rear before he got to Richmond, he would have him
and his men hived, and could give them a good thrashing, and then
step quietly in and take the city. But it is not so easy a matter to
get in the rear of a gentleman who keeps his eyes open. Nor, my son,
have I ever before heard that it was wise in a great general to
perform a feat in grand circle sailing to gain an advantage over an
adversary who occupied the same roads with him. But George made up
his mind that he knew better than all of us, so he took his army to
sea, became a great navigator as well as a general, and sailed for
the Peninsula, where some good friend had told him there were finer
weather and harder roads.
The greatest of generals, my son, are liable to disappointment. They
may drive the enemy, and win victories; but they cannot control the
elements. That was what bothered George. It was all very pleasant to
give his army an airing at sea, but when he was safely landed on the
Peninsula, he found himself further from Richmond than when he
started. Instead of mud he found dangerous quicksands, into which
his army plunged and sank almost out of sight. And there was no
better weather on the Peninsula than at Manassas. His cavalrymen,
when they had got their sea-legs off, and mounted, cut a sorry
figure in the quicksand. And his artillery sunk above its boots.
Indeed it was with the greatest difficulty his army could be kept on
the surface. There was no getting a firm understanding.
When George had got his army "all ashore," he set out on his grand
journey to Richmond. But when he had waded for twenty miles or so
through quicksands, he halted before a little old town called
Yorktown. Now the old women along the road told George that he had
better have nothing to do with Yorktown, that Yorktown was not much
account anyhow, and not worth spending much powder on. They told him
also that although Mr. Beauregard had not been seen, there was one
General Johnson, who had just come to town with a large army; and
had made no end of sand heaps, and put mighty big guns on them. That
he would not find it so easy to get into Yorktown while General
Johnson sat smoking his pipe behind them big sand heaps. And so it
proved.