Siege of Washington, D.C., written expressly for little people

by F. Colburn Adams

CHAPTER V.

THE wise men of Washington agreed that McDowell was not the general we took him for, so we sent for George B. McClellan, who had been whipping the rebels up in Northern Virginia. We felt sure that he was the man who would whip the rebels for us, and gain us victories; who would dispel the gloom hanging over the land, and bring us plenty of sunshine. Indeed, my son, the nation began to feel very happy in the possession of such a man; for, according to the newspapers, he had displayed remarkable military traits when only a boy, such as great attention to the study of maps, and the making of little dirt piles. It was also added that while yet a youth he was very obedient to his father, and affectionately fond of his mother. And these excellent traits of character, in one so young, it was held by our wise men, must, when improved and enlarged by manhood, make the man, who had given his mind to the study of arms a great general. So, my son, you see what an opportunity there is before you.

Well, George came to us flush from the field of his glories, and we proceeded at once to make him a hero before he had made us an army. The nation recovered from its disappointment, the sky brightened, the people began to send into the capital troops of a different sort, and the general we had put our faith in went to work making an army—the grand old Army of the Potomac. Now, my son, it was no small job to make an army, and when you have made it to so improve its drill and discipline that it will stand firm and fight well. It is just as necessary, my son, to harden the constitution of a new army as it is to so sharpen its digestion that it will relish the coarsest of fare. And you can do neither of these things in a day. You must also cultivate and improve the courage of a new army. And this can only be done by experience in the field. General George taught his army to do all these things, and do them well. And the nation felt grateful to him for what he was doing, and sang songs in his praise. And the army respected and loved General George. And General George loved and was proud of his army. The sky of our hopes brightened then, and the nation rejoiced and felt strong again. We all felt that when spring came Mr. Beauregard and his men would be driven to the wall; that we should march on and take Richmond; and that General George was just the man to do it all for us.

Then an evil hour came. The nation got in an impatient mood. And while General George was hardening the constitution of his army on the banks of the Potomac, a great many restless, discontented, and evil-disposed persons sprang up, declared that he was no general at all, and that to command armies was the business of politicians, not soldiers. During war every nation has its mischievous men, who, to create notoriety for themselves, make war in their own way on the great soldiers who are struggling to preserve its honor. These men were our misfortune. They proceeded to make war on General George, to persecute him, and to destroy his usefulness with the army. These men affected to know a great deal about war; but I noticed, my son, that they were very unwilling to shoulder a musket and face the enemy. They wanted General George to move on in the middle of winter, drive Mr. Beauregard out of Manassas, and take Richmond. And all this while the mud was so deep that he could not drag his wagons through it. George very sensibly refused to destroy his army in this way. Indeed, he foresaw that to follow their advice would be to bring the nation to grief a second time. This increased the discontent and opposition of his enemies, who regarded it a great grievance that a general would not follow their advice.

But George was not to be driven into the mud by a set of meddlesome civilians, who knew nothing about war. And to show them that he was not, he kept his army quiet, on the banks of the Potomac, all winter. And in this position he contemplated Mr. Beauregard, and Mr. Beauregard contemplated him, separated by twenty miles of mud. We had not got our war eyes open then, my son. In truth, we had but a very imperfect idea of what an amount of resistance a resolute and determined foe, standing on the defensive, can offer.

When it was spring, and the birds had come back to us, and the prospect looked bright and cheering, and the hopes of the nation ran high, George mounted his horse, and, picking up his army, moved out in the direction of Richmond, taking the overland route. He sent word to Mr Beauregard to wait until he came and he would thrash him out of Manassas. But Mr. Beauregard was not inclined to accommodate George with a fight at that particular point, where his elbows were so exposed, and stepped quietly out by the back door before George got there. In short, all George saw of Mr. Beauregard and his men was the tails of their coats and the heels of their boots, away in the shadowy distance. People said Mr. Beauregard did not do the clean thing to slip away in such a manner. And there were those who scolded General George for letting him get off in this shabby way; but how he was to prevent it I never could see. Mr. Beauregard was kind enough to leave us an army of log houses, and his smouldering camp fires, around which a number of sooty negroes were grouped, shivering and forlorn. And these were all we had to be thankful to him for.

A great storm arose while we were at Manassas. Snow, rain, and hail fell, the wind blew cold and piercing, and the face of the country became melancholy. And the army became melancholy, and sick, for it was stuck in the mud, and was suffering for something to eat, though so near Washington. And the poor animals got sick, and began dying, for there was nothing for them to eat. There was no following Mr. Beauregard to Richmond over such a muddy road, which looked very long then, and very dangerous. George was put to his wits to know what to do next. There was no persuading Mr. Beauregard to stop long enough to let us strike him square in the stomach, so George hit upon a great plan, whereby wonders were to be worked in the art of strategy. He conceived the grand idea of taking his army to sea, avoiding the mud, and after enjoying a pleasant voyage, finding a shorter and better road to Richmond. We all know at what a disadvantage you can take a man when you get in his rear. George felt that if he could take advantage of this on an enlarged plan he could have Mr. Beauregard just where he wanted him. That is, if he could get in his rear before he got to Richmond, he would have him and his men hived, and could give them a good thrashing, and then step quietly in and take the city. But it is not so easy a matter to get in the rear of a gentleman who keeps his eyes open. Nor, my son, have I ever before heard that it was wise in a great general to perform a feat in grand circle sailing to gain an advantage over an adversary who occupied the same roads with him. But George made up his mind that he knew better than all of us, so he took his army to sea, became a great navigator as well as a general, and sailed for the Peninsula, where some good friend had told him there were finer weather and harder roads.

The greatest of generals, my son, are liable to disappointment. They may drive the enemy, and win victories; but they cannot control the elements. That was what bothered George. It was all very pleasant to give his army an airing at sea, but when he was safely landed on the Peninsula, he found himself further from Richmond than when he started. Instead of mud he found dangerous quicksands, into which his army plunged and sank almost out of sight. And there was no better weather on the Peninsula than at Manassas. His cavalrymen, when they had got their sea-legs off, and mounted, cut a sorry figure in the quicksand. And his artillery sunk above its boots. Indeed it was with the greatest difficulty his army could be kept on the surface. There was no getting a firm understanding.

When George had got his army "all ashore," he set out on his grand journey to Richmond. But when he had waded for twenty miles or so through quicksands, he halted before a little old town called Yorktown. Now the old women along the road told George that he had better have nothing to do with Yorktown, that Yorktown was not much account anyhow, and not worth spending much powder on. They told him also that although Mr. Beauregard had not been seen, there was one General Johnson, who had just come to town with a large army; and had made no end of sand heaps, and put mighty big guns on them. That he would not find it so easy to get into Yorktown while General Johnson sat smoking his pipe behind them big sand heaps. And so it proved.