The magnetic personality of
McClellan had appealed to his imagination from their first meeting.
The General was particularly bitter on the morning the President was
expected. His indignation at last broke forth in impassioned words to
his sympathetic listener.
The tragic consequence of the impression made in that talk neither man
could dream at the moment.
Pacing the floor with the tread of a caged lion McClellan suddenly
paused and his fine blue eyes flashed.
"I tell you, Vaughan, the wretches have done their worst. They can't do
much more----"
He stopped suddenly and drew from his pocket the copy of a dispatch he
had sent to the war office. He read it carefully and looked up with
flashing eyes:
"I'll face the President with this dispatch to Stanton in my hands, too.
They would have removed me from my command for sending it--if they had
dared!"
He slowly repeated its closing words:
"I know that a few thousand more men would have changed this battle from
a defeat to a victory. As it is, the Government must not and cannot hold
me responsible for the result. I feel too earnestly to-night. I have
seen too many dead and wounded comrades to feel otherwise than that the
Government has not sustained this army. If you do not do so now, the
game is lost. If I save this army now, I tell you plainly that I owe no
thanks to you, or to any other person in Washington.
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