“May I ask a favor of you: General?”
“Name it” McClellan said expansively. He felt that he'd found a good listener to his philosophy in Nathan.
“I would like to accompany you when you take the army south.”
“Excellent,” said McClellan. “I am honored to have you. Then you will see the truth.”
The lunch was over and they stepped outside. As they were shaking hands: a courier rode up in haste and handed McClellan a message that he opened and read. A look of surprise and dismay crossed his face
“Well well” he said thoughtfully. “It appears there has been a change in the Confederacy. Mr. Davis has replaced Joe Johnston with Robert E. Lee.”
“I must admit:” said General Scott in his library, “that I am more surprised by the timing of the act than by the act itself. I had rather assumed that Joe Johnston, the victor of Manassas, would be given another battle to prove himself.”
Scott sipped his brandy. “On the other hand, it is the correct decision. General Lee will prove the greater menace to McClellan than Johnston.”
“I don't understand,” said Nathan. He had a snifter of scotch whiskey and was puffing on a Cuban cigar. Both were acquired tastes: and at the moment he was damned glad he'd acquired them.
“Did you know either of the three men?”
“I shook Jefferson Davis's hand once: and I met Johnston when he was with the First Cavalry,” Nathan said. “I cannot say I actually know either man at all. Lee I never met.”
Scott smiled. “Of course, I knew them all. Davis is the most important, of course. He is a West Point graduate, served in the army, and fought with distinction in the Mexican War. Later, he served as both a U.S. senator and as secretary of war. Along with having a keen intellect, he is a very strong and stubborn man, which can be advantageous when trying to form a new nation out of fractious pieces. He is blunt and easy to dislike. He is also aggressive, which General Johnston is not.
“Johnston is very cautious. I knew him well when he served as my quartermaster general in 1860. He is undeniably brave and smart, but his plans for defending the South against McClellan would not meet with Davis's blessing, nor would they stand the criticism that would be heaped upon them.”
“And why not?” Nathan asked.
“Presume that you lead an army that is vastly outnumbered, but confronted by a timid general who thinks otherwise. What would you do?”
Nathan pondered. “I would fall back and bleed the enemy in a hundred skirmishes. I would not risk a major battle in which the disparity in numbers would be found out.”
“And that is just what Johnston doubtless suggested.” Scott said. “And it is excellent strategy. However, that was his downfall. When the South placed its capital tauntingly close to Washington, it made the seventy-mile corridor between Richmond and Washington the focus of the war. In short, General Johnston had very little room to retreat, maneuver, and bleed his confused enemy. Seventy miles can be covered in an easy week's marching by an unopposed army, although the miserable winter roads and trails will make that journey far longer. I wonder if Johnston proposed evacuating Richmond? Certainly he could not permit himself to be cornered and trapped in a siege. If the Confederacy had kept its capital at Montgomery, Alabama, then Johnston might have been permitted to tease McClellan, playing fox to his hounds, for a couple of hundred irrelevant miles. McClellan would have had to garrison points in his rear, which would have bled off his numbers, and his supply lines would have been vulnerable to cavalry raids.
“After a while, the Union army would consist of a spear with a very small point and a very long shaft. It would be broken easily and rolled up back from whence it came. No, Johnston was betrayed by geography, as well as the warrior code of the Southern male, and not by his own military skills. Please recall that I came from Virginia and understand fully that retreating in the face of an invading enemy is something Southern men will not do without first being totally and utterly defeated. The failure to recognize that fact is why Joe Johnston is awaiting reassignment and Robert E. Lee commands in his stead.”
“And what will Lee do differently?” Nathan asked as he refilled both men's glasses.
“Lee served on my staff in Mexico. I knew him well and both liked and respected him. He was a genuine hero and was wounded in combat. I offered him command of the Union armies when secession occurred. He refused by saying his duty lay with Virginia. Duty, he said, was the sublimest word in the English language, and then he followed that misguided sense of duty southward. It is a shame. I would a million times rather see Lee in charge of our armies than McClellan.”
“I would, too,” Nathan admitted. It was a thought he would not have considered a couple of months ago.
“What will Lee do differently? Why, he will attack. Lee is brave and ruthless. He may look like a courtly gentleman and a scholar, but he is all warrior. He will attack, attack, attack, even with inferior forces, to keep McClellan off balance and confused. He will never let McClellan begin to gain the confidence he needs to lead the large host he has. Lee will baffle him, lure him into a trap, and then defeat him. McClellan's one hope is to move rapidly and attack now, before Lee can get his command organized. There's bound to be confusion in the Confederate hierarchy because of such a precipitous change in high command. Attack now is what he should do. However,” Scott said with dismay, “he won't, will he?”
“No, he won't. His plans are made for the invasion to commence three weeks from now.” Nathan sagged back in dismay. “Then our cause is doomed.”
“Not necessarily.”
“It isn't?” Nathan asked in surprise.
“McClellan will be defeated, but not destroyed. The South simply doesn't have the capacity to destroy McClellan's army, and McClellan, for all his shortcomings, is not a total fool. He already told you he will withdraw at the first hint of harm, and that will save the army. Where we go from here depends on Mr. Lincoln.”
Nathan understood. If McClellan faltered, then the president would have no choice but to search elsewhere for military leadership. At such a point, it was almost a given that he would ask the opinion of General Winfield Scott. The continued meetings between Nathan and John Hay might be interpreted as representing an almost wistful thought on Lincoln's part to be able to confide in Scott.
If defeat was as inevitable as General Scott said it was, then it would be tragic. However, it might also contain within it the seeds of victory.
“By the way,” Nathan said, “McClellan even knew about Attila Flynn's proposal to develop and organize an Irish-American army. He thought it laughable. He said there was no such thing as an Irish organization, and that attempts to create one would make a drunken mob look good by comparison.”
McClellan had said no such thing and Nathan winked so that Scott understood. The comment was totally for Flynn's benefit, and it amused Nathan to say it. Bridget Conlin was certainly listening at the door and would get the slur back to him as quickly as she could. Let Flynn do with it as he wished.
Scott gestured for one more drink and another cigar. “We may have to start rationing these,” he said sadly. “If the British blockade becomes effective, we may have seen the last of these little life-sustaining luxuries.”
It was unthinkable for women of status and breeding to actually work for a living, which meant that both Rebecca Devon and Valerie D'Estaing had a good deal of time on their hands. Shopping was always a sport, but the war had made items rare and prices high. Besides, it was a shallow sport, and, as Rebecca had said, “how many gloves can one wear?”