Near Manassas, Virginia
November 1863
George McClellan was everywhere. Accompanied by a small coterie of staff officers, he visited each corps commander, rode past regimental camps to wild cheers, spoke to common soldiers, and he reviewed troops, including a Grand Review in which 25,000 soldiers marched in tight formations past his reviewing stand. Among those in attendance to see the martial display, and the zenith to which McClellan had trained and inspired his men, were senators, congressmen, ladies and gentlemen of Washington society, and members of the presidential cabinet. Those not in attendance included President Lincoln, who had not been invited.
McClellan knew that it was important that the men saw him, knew he had returned, knew that this time they would not be stopped when on the verge of victory by politicians. That couldn’t be accomplished in a day, or through a written proclamation, as some generals seemed to believe. It took time, training, drill, discipline. Lincoln called this the slows. McClellan called it preparation. He knew that if an army did not believe in its commander, and didn’t believe that it could win, that it was doomed to failure.
McClellan was indeed everywhere, but for the moment he was sitting on a tree stump outside his tent. He’d been in the saddle all day and he had liked what he’d seen. Not only had the men recovered from the humiliating loss at Gettysburg, but they were eager to be back in the field and prove that, properly led, they were capable of anything. They’ll soon have their chance, he mused.
Sitting with McClellan was George Meade, hatchet-faced, surly, and quarrelsome, but at least not given to idle chatter. He sat quietly on his own stump, whittling something of indeterminate shape. Meade was still in command of the Army of the Potomac despite the debacle at Gettysburg. The press had called for his head and Lincoln, that reliever of generals, was inclined to fire him. Partly for that reason, and partly because Meade would fight, McClellan had kept him on. I don’t need him to strategize, McClellan reasoned. I just need him to fight. McClellan glanced at Meade, looking for a sign. Had Gettysburg taken the starch out of him? Did he need to go, like McDowell, Burnside, Pope? No. Like me, he has something to prove, and I’ll give him that chance.
Fight. There was going to be a fight, in fact two of them. One to prevent the rebels from taking Washington City, and the other, up north, to repel the British invasion.
McClellan’s plan was simple. He had no choice but to divide his forces, and he would lead the bulk of the army north to fight Burgoyne. Defeating the British invaders would be a spectacular achievement and would capture the attention of the press and the public. The political ramifications were obvious, especially in Governor Seymour’s home state. Defending Washington would be less glamorous, and he would leave that to Meade. If Meade’s smaller force wasn’t up to the job, and if Lincoln and the cabinet were forced to flee in haste, well, these things happen in time of war. McClellan was pleased that he’d sent Nelly to live with his family in Philadelphia.
Moving his army north, already underway, but slowly so as not to rouse suspicion in Richmond, was a tremendous feat of logistics, but no different than the amphibious movement to the peninsula in 1862. A simple matter of mathematics—so many men, so many horses, so many wagons, and so much equipment requires a certain number of ships and a certain number of days. General Meigs could move the army to New York in his sleep.
McClellan’s aide, Captain Wilson, ran from the communications tent, paper in his hand. “Sir, excuse the interruption, a telegram from General Custer.”
“Thank you, Captain. And Captain. Please assemble the corps commanders at seven this evening for a council of war.”
McClellan read the brief telegram, then handed it to Meade.
Poughkeepsie, NY
Sir: Arrived NY without incident. 10,000 men and horse on march north. Reliable informants put enemy north of Albany. Harass and delay. Await yr arrival. Custer
Meade handed the paper back to McClellan. “General, you’ll get a full report at your council this evening from General Meigs, but I believe we’ve already put two corps on the boats to New York. We should have a force sufficient to meet Burgoyne in place in a week. Let’s hope young Custer is still harassing and delaying when we get there.”
“Yes. And let’s hope Pete Longstreet isn’t in a hurry to visit the sights in Washington City. This particular dance requires time and careful choreography.”