One big ominous fact loomed in tragic menace from the smoke and flame of this campaign—the South had developed two leaders of matchless military genius—Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson. It was a fact the President must face and that without fear or favor to any living man in his own army.
He left Washington for the front at once. He must see with his own eyes the condition of the army. He must see McClellan. The demand for his removal was loud and bitter. And fiercest of all those who asked for his head was the iron-willed Secretary of War, Edwin M. Stanton, his former champion.
[CHAPTER XIV]
[THE RETREAT]
John Vaughan had become one of his General's trusted aides. His services during the month's terrific struggle had proven invaluable. The Commander was quick to discern that he was a man of culture and possessed a mind of unusual power. More than once the General had called him to his headquarters to pour into his ears his own grievances against the authorities in Washington. Naturally his mind had been embittered against the man in the White House. The magnetic personality of McClellan had appealed to his imagination from their first meeting.
The General was particularly bitter on the morning the President was expected. His indignation at last broke forth in impassioned words to his sympathetic listener.
The tragic consequence of the impression made in that talk neither man could dream at the moment.
Pacing the floor with the tread of a caged lion McClellan suddenly paused and his fine blue eyes flashed.
"I tell you, Vaughan, the wretches have done their worst. They can't do much more——"