Near Trenton, New Jersey
November 1863
General George McClellan gazed out the window of the luxury sleeper car. He’d decided to take the train rather than accompany the troops by sea. This way he could be there when they arrived, and hopefully confer with Custer before setting out with the main force in pursuit of the British.
His time with the railroads before the war had spoiled him. A private car was the only way to travel. His staff was seated together in the car ahead.
Seated beside him, Nelly read from a book. On a whim, McClellan had stopped the train in Philadelphia and convinced his wife to come as far as New York City. She could stay with friends and be close by when the general defeated Burgoyne and the British Army. Perhaps, if all goes well, he thought, they might pay a call together on New York Governor Seymour.
“What are you reading?”
“Great Expectations.”
McClellan smiled. How appropriate. “That Dickens fellow? His books are a thousand pages long and it turns out everyone is somebody’s long-lost uncle.”
Nelly looked up. “Yes. Perhaps I should read again your manual on bayonet tactics. That would be much more entertaining. Have you a copy with you?”
McClellan smiled again. “You’ve read it before? I had no idea.”
“Mr. Dickens has a way with the language, and I find him quite funny. You know people waited on the docks in New York for the ships to bring the next installment of his stories.”
“Yes. He’s a wealthy man as a result. I wonder if General Burgoyne is acquainted with him. With Burgoyne’s pedigree they probably travel in the same circles. Gentlemen’s clubs, the theater, and partridge shooting perhaps. In any case I prefer the French and German writers.”
“Yes, so light and entertaining. Especially the Germans.”
“Perhaps while you’re in New York you should offer your services to Mr. Greeley. I’m sure the Tribune could use a literary critic.”
“Perhaps I shall.”
“You know I met Burgoyne in the Crimea. I wonder if he remembers me.”
Nelly looked out the window at the New Jersey countryside. Farms and more farms. “I’m quite certain he knows who you are now. What have you heard from General Custer?”
“Nothing, since a telegram he sent soon after he arrived in New York. I expect he has found the British by now, and there should be a message waiting when we get to the city. I’m anxious to take the field. Custer is a fine officer, but patience is not among his manifold virtues. He will certainly harass Burgoyne, but he’ll be hard-pressed to resist a general engagement if one is offered. I should have 75,000 additional men north of New York City in a matter of days and then we shall see about giving battle.”
Nelly looked at her book but didn’t read. “Are you concerned about Washington City? You left General Meade with a much-reduced force to defend it. One might almost think you wanted it to fall.”
McClellan looked at her sharply. “I designed the defenses of Washington myself, as you know, and they are very strong. Sixty-eight forts ringing the city. Longstreet is not a man who enjoys a frontal assault on an entrenched position. I believe I have time to deal with Burgoyne, then return south and relieve Meade before too much damage is done.”
He added, in a quieter tone, “And that will be that. I believe that the country’s political future will become clear at that point.”
The train slowed, and an aide entered McClellan’s sleeper from the adjacent car. “Sir, they are flagging us to stop in Trenton. It probably means there are dispatches.”
“Thank you, Captain Wilson.”
As the doors opened, a soldier carrying a leather satchel jumped up the steps, walked briskly to the rear of the car, reached into the bag, and handed Wilson an envelope. The captain ripped it open, glanced at it, and turned to the general.
“Sir, a message from General Custer.”
McClellan read it, looked out the window for a moment, read it again, then handed the message to his wife.
“Let’s get the train moving again Captain. Great Expectations indeed.”