The volunteer American soldier
was a good fighter and a good critic of the men who led him. He had his
own ideas about how an army should be fought and maneuvered. As the idol
of fighting men, McClellan had ceased to threaten the supremacy of the
civil law. There was no attempt at the long looked for _coup d'etat_. It
was too late. No one knew this more clearly than McClellan himself.
But his fall was the bitterness of death to the staff who adored him and
the generals who believed in him. Burnside, knowing the condition of
practical anarchy he must face, declined the command. The President
forced him to accept. He took it reluctantly with grim forebodings of
failure.
John received his long leave of absence from his Chief and left for
Washington the night before the formal farewell. His rage against the
bungler who ruled the Nation with autocratic power was fierce and
implacable.
His resentment against the woman he loved was scarcely less bitter. It
was her triumph, too. She believed in the divine inspiration of the man
who sat in the chair of Washington and Jefferson. Great God, could
madness reach sublimer folly! She had written him a letter of good
wishes and all but asked for a reconciliation before the battle. Love
had fought with pride through a night and pride had won. He hadn't
answered the letter.
Pages:
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349