It was not surprising that on the eve of such a battle in the light of the frightful experiences of the past two years that Washington should be in a condition of panic. A single defeat now with Lee's victorious army north of the Capital meant its fall, the inevitable dismemberment of the Union, and the bankruptcy and ruin of the remaining Northern States.
Brave men in Congress who had fought heroically with their mouths inveighing with bitter invective against the weak and vacillating policy of the President in temporizing with the South were busy packing their goods and chattels to fly at a moment's notice.
The President realized, as no other man could, the deep tragedy of the crisis. He sat by his window for hours, his face a grey mask, his sorrowful eyes turned within, the deep-cut lines furrowed into his cheeks as though burned with red hot irons.
He was struggling desperately now to forestall the possible panic which would follow defeat.
He had sent once more for McClellan and in painful silence, all others excluded from the Executive Chamber, awaited his coming.
"You are doubtless aware, General," the President began, "that a defeat at Gettysburg might involve the fall of the Capital and the dismemberment of the Union?"
"I am, sir."
"First, I wish to speak to you with perfect frankness about some ugly matters which have come to my ears—may I?"
The compelling blue eyes flashed and the General spoke with an accent of impatience:
"Certainly."