South of Saratoga, New York
December 1863
McClellan sat in his tent, going over in his head the meeting with Lincoln earlier in the day. As much as he despised the man, he could now see clearly the way forward.
Nelly sat beside him. He had asked her to visit, unsure when he might have the chance to see her next. She had taken the train up from New York City.
“I don’t expect you to lay out your grand strategy, but the fact that you invited me to camp means you’ll soon be going into action.”
“Indeed, it may.”
They sat quietly, McClellan’s wheels turning, Nelly pretending to read a book. There was nothing awkward in the silence.
“You’ve said nothing about your meeting with Mr. Lincoln. Imagine. Did you ever think that meetings with the president would be commonplace and unworthy of comment?”
“All too commonplace. For all his homespun manner, he is a superior politician, I’ll grant him that. He as much as said he expects me to run against him in the fall. Yet I suspect he is setting up General Grant to supersede me. It is Grant who will come east and take Richmond, saving the Union, while I spar with Burgoyne in the frozen north. Lincoln knows that Grant has no political ambitions, doesn’t have a political bone in his body. His success poses no threat to re-election.”
“I see. So, Grant’s success will be Lincoln’s success, assuring his re-election. Your own victory against the British will be a sideshow. An important sideshow, but not enough to defeat him.”
“There may be a way.”
Nelly looked up from her book. “You’ll beat Sam Grant to the punch.”
McClellan smiled. “Let me see if we have a uniform that might fit you. Our hats have no feathers, though some of the Southern officers are partial to them.”
Nelly returned the smile. “I prefer to offer my services as a civilian strategist. That way I can sleep in my own bed and eschew the marching aspects of military life. You may keep your uniform. I should like a look at the hat and feathers.”
“Beat him to the punch indeed. If we can deal with the British quickly, we can threaten Washington before Grant can transport his army east. I don’t believe Davis will defend Washington. We might take it back without firing a shot, though a few shots fired will please the newspapers.”
“Where will you fight the British?”
McClellan picked the map up from his field desk and spread it between them. “Here. Saratoga. Burgoyne seems determined to stay there and fight there. No doubt he feels a need to erase the stain on his father’s name. That is fine with me. I appreciate an enemy who is immobile and wedded to a particular place. It makes the planning and execution that much easier.”
“The father seemed such a jolly sort. I’ve read The Heiress. It’s quite amusing. And after he returned to England he became an advocate for the French Revolution. Your General Burgoyne seems much less interesting.”
“He’s interesting enough. He makes few mistakes. My dear, I believe I shall ask Wilson to escort you to the train station. I believe the atmosphere will soon be less conducive to reading and polite conversation.”
Nelly looked at him. “George, you are correct. If ever there were a moment for fast and decisive action, this is it. I shall look forward to joining you in Washington.”
McClellan smiled. “I’m going to order the uniform in case you change your mind.”