The words were generous, but the commander put in a suggestion for more.
"Never, Mr. President," he said emphatically, "did such a change of base, involving a retrogressive movement under incessant attacks from a vastly more numerous foe partake of so little disaster. When all is known you will see that the movement just completed by this army is unparalleled in the annals of war. We have preserved our trains, our guns, our material, and, above all, our honor."
"Rest assured, General," the quiet voice responded, "the heroism and skill of yourself, officers and men, is and forever will be appreciated."
The President returned to Washington profoundly puzzled as to his duty. He was alarmed at the display of self esteem which his defeated General had naïvely made, and his loyalty was boldly and opened questioned by his advisers, and yet he was loath to remove him from command. Down in his square, honest heart he felt that with all his faults, McClellan was a man of worth, that he had never been thoroughly whipped in a single battle and that he hadn't had a fair trial.
Any other man in power than Abraham Lincoln would have removed him instantly on the receipt of his insolent and insulting dispatch. Instead, the President had gone to see him with an open mind. He returned determined to strengthen his military council by the addition of an expert in Washington as his Commander-in-Chief.
He called to this post Henry W. Halleck. Although McClellan had waived the crown of such power aside with lofty words of unselfish patriotism, he received the announcement of Halleck's promotion and his subordination with sullen rage.
"In this thing," he wrote his wife, "the President and those around him have acted so as to make the matter as offensive as possible to me."
And yet against every demand that McClellan should be removed from command the President was obdurate. Again and again his friends urged:
"McClellan is playing for the Presidency."
The tall man merely nodded: