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Pursuing "the even tenor of his way," Johnston rapidly increased the efficiency of his army. Furloughed men returned in large numbers before their leaves had terminated, many bringing new recruits with them. Divisions were formed, and officers selected to command them. Some islands of dry land appeared amid the sea of mud, when the movement of the Federal forces in our front changed the theatre of war and opened the important campaign of 1862.

When overtaken by unexpected calamity African tribes destroy the fetich previously worshiped, and with much noise seek some new idol in which they can incarnate their vanities and hopes. Stunned by the rout at Manassas, the North pulled down an old veteran, Scott, and his lieutenant, McDowell, and set up McClellan, who caught the public eye at the moment by reason of some minor successes in Western Virginia, where the Confederate General, Robert Garnett, was killed. It is but fair to admit that the South had not emulated the wisdom of Solomon nor the modesty of Godolphin. The capture of Fort Sumter, with its garrison of less than a hundred men, was hardly Gibraltar; yet it would put the grandiloquent hidalgoes of Spain on their mettle to make more clatter over the downfall of the cross of St. George from that historic rock. McClellan was the young Napoleon, the very god of war in his latest avatar. While this was absurd, and in the end injurious to McClellan, it was of service to his Government; for it strengthened his loins to the task before him—a task demanding the highest order of ability and the influence of a demigod. A great war was to be carried on, and a great army, the most complex of machines, was necessary.

The cardinal principles on which the art of war is based are few and unchangeable, resembling in this the code of morality; but their application varies as the theatre of the war, the genius and temper of the people engaged, and the kind of arms employed. The United States had never possessed a great army. The entire force engaged in the war against Mexico would scarcely have made a respectable corps d'armée, and to study the organization of great armies and campaigns a recurrence to the Napoleonic era was necessary. The Governments of Europe for a half century had been improving armaments, and changing the tactical unit of formation and manœuvre to correspond to such improvement. The Italian campaign of Louis Napoleon established some advance in field artillery, but the supreme importance of breech-loaders was not admitted until Sadowa, in 1866. All this must be considered in determining the value of McClellan's work. Taking the raw material intrusted to him, he converted it into a great military machine, complete in all its parts, fitted for its intended purpose. Moreover, he resisted the natural impatience of his Government and people, and the follies of politicians and newspapers, and for months refused to put his machine at work before all its delicate adjustments were perfected. Thus, much in its own despite, the North obtained armies and the foundation of success. The correctness of the system adopted by McClellan proved equal to all emergencies, and remained unchanged until the close of the war. Disappointed in his hands, and suffering painful defeats in those of his immediate successors, the "Army of the Potomac" always recovered, showed itself a vital organism, and finally triumphed. McClellan organized victory for his section, and those who deem the preservation of the "Union" the first of earthly duties should not cease to do him reverence.

I have here written of McClellan, not as a leader, but an organizer of armies; and as such he deserves to rank with the Von Moltkes, Scharnhorsts, and Louvois of history.

Constant struggle against the fatal interference of politicians with his military plans and duties separated McClellan from the civil department of his Government, and led him to adopt a policy of his own. The military road to Richmond, and the only one as events proved, was by the peninsula and the James river, and it was his duty so to advise. He insisted, and had his way; but not for long. A little of that selfishness which serves lower intelligences as an instinct of self-preservation would have shown him that his most dangerous enemies were not in his front. The Administration at Washington had to deal with a people blind with rage, an ignorant and meddlesome Congress, and a wolfish horde of place-hunters. A sudden dash of the Confederates on the capital might change the attitude of foreign powers. These political considerations weighed heavily at the seat of government, but were of small moment to the military commander. In a conflict between civil policy and military strategy, the latter must yield. The jealousy manifested by the Venetian and Dutch republics toward their commanders has often been criticised; but it should be remembered that they kept the military in strict subjection to the civil power; and when they were overthrown, it was by foreign invasion, not by military usurpation. Their annals afford no example of the declaration by their generals that the special purpose of republican armies is to preserve civil order and enforce civil law.

After the battle of Chickamauga, in 1863, General Grant was promoted to the command of the armies of the United States, and called to Washington. In a conference between him, President Lincoln, and Secretary Stanton, the approaching campaign in Virginia was discussed. Grant said that the advance on Richmond should be made by the James river. It was replied that the Government required the interposition of an army between Lee and Washington, and could not consent at that late day to the adoption of a plan which would be taken by the public as a confession of previous error. Grant observed that he was indifferent as to routes; but if the Government preferred its own, so often tried, to the one he suggested, it must be prepared for the additional loss of a hundred thousand men. The men were promised, Grant accepted the governmental plan of campaign, and was supported to the end. The above came to me well authenticated, and I have no doubt of its correctness.²

During his operations on the peninsula and near Richmond, McClellan complained much of want of support; but the constancy with which President Lincoln adhered to him was, under the circumstances, surprising. He had drifted away from the dominant Washington sentiment, and alienated the sympathies of his Government. His fall was inevitable; the affection of the army but hastened it; even victory could not save him. He adopted the habit of saying, "My army," "My soldiers." Such phraseology may be employed by a Frederick or Napoleon, sovereigns as well as generals; but officers command the armies of their governments. General McClellan is an upright, patriotic man, incapable of wrong-doing, and has a high standard of morality, to which he lives more closely than most men do to a lower one; but it is to be remembered that the examples of the good are temptations and opportunities to the unscrupulous. The habit of thought underlying such language, or soon engendered by its use, has made Mexico and the South American republics the wonder and scorn of civilization.

The foregoing account of McClellan's downfall is deemed pertinent because he was the central figure in the Northern field, and laid the foundation of Northern success. Above all, he and a gallant band of officers supporting him impressed a generous, chivalric spirit on the war, which soon faded away; and the future historian, in recounting some later operations, will doubt if he is dealing with campaigns of generals or expeditions of brigands.

The intention of McClellan to transfer his base from Washington to some point farther south was known to Johnston, but there was doubt whether Fredericksburg or the Peninsula would be selected. To meet either contingency, Johnston in the spring of 1862 moved his army from Manassas to the vicinity of Orange Court House, where he was within easy reach of both Fredericksburg and Richmond. The movement was executed with the quiet precision characteristic of Johnston, unrivaled as a master of logistics.

I was ordered to withdraw the infantry pickets from the lower Bull Run after nightfall, and move on a road through the county of Prince William, east of the line of railway from Manassas to Orange. This road was tough and heavy, and crossed by frequent streams, affluents of the neighboring Potomac. These furnished occupation and instruction to a small body of pioneers, recently organized, while the difficulties of the road drew heavily on the marching capacity—or rather incapacity—of the men. Straggling was then, and continued throughout to be, the vice of Southern armies. The climate of the South was not favorable to pedestrian exercise, and, centaur-like, its inhabitants, from infancy to old age, passed their lives on horseback, seldom walking the most insignificant distance. When brought into the field, the men were as ignorant of the art of marching as babes, and required for their instruction the same patient, unwearied attention. On this and subsequent marches frequent halts were made, to enable stragglers to close up; and I set the example to mounted officers of riding to the rear of the column, to encourage the weary by relieving them of their arms, and occasionally giving a footsore fellow a cast on my horse. The men appreciated this care and attention, followed advice as to the fitting of their shoes, cold bathing of feet, and healing of abrasions, and soon held it a disgrace to fall out of ranks. Before a month had passed the brigade learned how to march, and, in the Valley with Jackson, covered long distances without leaving a straggler behind. Indeed, in several instances it emulated the achievement of Crauford's "Light Brigade," whose wonderful march to join Wellington at Talavera remains the stoutest feat of modern soldiership.

Arrived at the Rappahannock, I found the railway bridge floored for the passage of troops and trains. The army, with the exception of Ewell's division, composed of Elzey's, Trimball's, and my brigades, had passed the Rapidan, and was lying around Orange Court House, where General Johnston had his headquarters. Some horse, under Stuart, remained north of the Rappahannock, toward Manassas.

For the first time Ewell had his division together and under his immediate command; and as we remained for many days between the rivers, I had abundant opportunities for studying the original character of "Dick Ewell." We had known each other for many years, but now our friendship and intercourse became close and constant. Graduated from West Point in 1840, Ewell joined the 1st regiment of United States dragoons, and, saving the Mexican war, in which he served with such distinction as a young cavalryman could gain, his whole military life had been passed on the plains, where, as he often asserted, he had learned all about commanding fifty United States dragoons, and forgotten everything else. In this he did himself injustice, as his career proves; but he was of a singular modesty. Bright, prominent eyes, a bomb-shaped, bald head, and a nose like that of Francis of Valois, gave him a striking resemblance to a woodcock; and this was increased by a bird-like habit of putting his head on one side to utter his quaint speeches. He fancied that he had some mysterious internal malady, and would eat nothing but frumenty, a preparation of wheat; and his plaintive way of talking of his disease, as if he were some one else, was droll in the extreme. His nervousness prevented him from taking regular sleep, and he passed nights curled around a camp-stool, in positions to dislocate an ordinary person's joints and drive the "caoutchouc man" to despair. On such occasions, after long silence, he would suddenly direct his eyes and nose toward me with "General Taylor! What do you suppose President Davis made me a major-general for?"—beginning with a sharp accent and ending with a gentle lisp. Superbly mounted, he was the boldest of horsemen, invariably leaving the roads to take timber and water. No follower of the "Pytchley" or "Quorn" could have lived with him across country. With a fine tactical eye on the battle field, he was never content with his own plan until he had secured the approval of another's judgment, and chafed under the restraint of command, preparing to fight with the skirmish line. On two occasions in the Valley, during the temporary absence of Jackson from the front, Ewell summoned me to his side, and immediately rushed forward among the skirmishers, where some sharp work was going on. Having refreshed himself, he returned with the hope that "old Jackson would not catch him at it." He always spoke of Jackson, several years his junior, as "old," and told me in confidence that he admired his genius, but was certain of his lunacy, and that he never saw one of Jackson's couriers approach without expecting an order to assault the north pole.

Later, after he had heard Jackson seriously declare that he never ate pepper because it produced a weakness in his left leg, he was confirmed in this opinion. With all his oddities, perhaps in some measure because of them, Ewell was adored by officers and men.

Orders from headquarters directed all surplus provisions, in the country between the Rappahannock and Rapidan, to be sent south of the latter stream. Executing these orders strictly, as we daily expected to rejoin the army, the division began to be straitened for supplies. The commissary of my brigade, Major Davis, was the very pearl of commissaries. Indefatigable in discharge of duty, he had as fine a nose for bullocks and bacon as Major Monsoon for sherry. The commissaries of the other brigades were less efficient, and for some days drew rations from Davis; but it soon became my duty to take care of my own command, and General Ewell's attention was called to the subject. The General thought that it was impossible so rich a country could be exhausted, and sallied forth on a cattle hunt himself. Late in the day he returned with a bull, jaded as was he of Ballyraggan after he had been goaded to the summit of that classic pass, and venerable enough to have fertilized the milky mothers of the herds of our early Presidents, whose former estates lie in this vicinity. With a triumphant air Ewell showed me his plunder. I observed that the bull was a most respectable animal, but would hardly afford much subsistence to eight thousand men. "Ah! I was thinking of my fifty dragoons," replied the General. The joke spread, and doubtless furnished sauce for the happy few to whose lot the bull fell.

Meantime, the cavalry force in our front had been withdrawn, and the Federal pickets made their appearance on the north bank of the Rappahannock, occasionally exchanging a shot with ours across the stream. This served to enliven us for a day or two, and kept Ewell busy, as he always feared lest some one would get under fire before him. At length a fire of artillery and small arms was opened from the north end of the bridge, near the south end of which my brigade was camped. Ordering the command to move out, I galloped down to the river, where I found Ewell assisting with his own hands to place some guns in position. The affair was over in a few minutes. The enemy had quietly run up two pieces of artillery, supported by dismounted horsemen, and opened fire on my camp; but the promptness with which the men had moved prevented loss, saving one or two brush huts, and a few mess pans.

The bridge had previously been prepared for burning, Ewell's orders being to destroy all railway bridges behind him, to prevent the use of the rails by the Federals. During the little alerte mentioned, I saw smoke rising from the bridge, which was soon a mass of flame. Now, this was the only bridge for some miles up or down; and though the river was fordable at many points, the fords were deep and impassable after rains. Its premature destruction not only prevented us from scouting and foraging on the north bank, but gave notice to the enemy of our purpose to abandon the country. Annoyed, and doubtless expressing the feeling in my countenance, as I watched the flames, Ewell, after a long silence, said, "You don't like it." Whereupon I related the following from Bugeaud's "Maxims": At the close of the Napoleonic wars, Bugeaud, a young colonel, commanded a French regiment on the Swiss frontier. A stream spanned by a bridge, but fordable above and below, separated him from an Austrian force of four times his strength. He first determined to destroy the bridge, but reflected that if left it might tempt the enemy, whenever he moved, to neglect the fords. Accordingly, he masked his regiment as near his end of the bridge as the topography of the ground permitted, and waited. The Austrians moved by the bridge, and Bugeaud, seizing the moment, fell upon them in the act of crossing and destroyed the entire force. Moral: 'Tis easier to watch and defend one bridge than many miles of fordable water. "Why did you keep the story until the bridge was burnt?" exclaimed Ewell. Subsequently, alleging that he had small opportunity for study after leaving West Point, he drew from me whatever some reading and a good memory could supply; but his shrewd remarks changed many erroneous opinions I had formed, and our "talks" were of more value to me than to him.

As our next move, hourly expected, would take us beyond the reach of railways, I here reduced the brigade to light marching order. My own kit, consisting of a change of underwear and a tent "fly," could be carried on my horse. A fly can be put up in a moment, and by stopping the weather end with boughs a comfortable hut is made. The men carried each his blanket, an extra shirt and drawers, two pairs of socks (woolen), and a pair of extra shoes. These, with his arm and ammunition, were a sufficient load for strong marching. Tents, especially in a wooded country, are not only a nuisance, involving much transportation, the bane of armies, but are detrimental to health. In cool weather they are certain to be tightly closed, and the number of men occupying them breeds a foul atmosphere. The rapidity with which men learn to shelter themselves, and their ingenuity in accomplishing it under unfavorable conditions, are surprising. My people grumbled no little at being "stripped", but soon admitted that they were better for it, and came to despise useless impedimenta.

I early adopted two customs, and adhered to them throughout the war. The first was to examine at every halt the adjacent roads and paths, their direction and condition; distances of nearest towns and cross-roads; the country, its capacity to furnish supplies, as well as general topography, etc., all of which was embodied in a rude sketch, with notes to impress it on memory. The second was to imagine while on the march an enemy before me to be attacked, or to be received in my position, and make the necessary dispositions for either contingency. My imaginary manœuvres were sad blunders, but I corrected them by experience drawn from actual battles, and can safely affirm that such slight success as I had in command was due to these customs. Assuredly, a knowledge of details will not make a great general; but there can be no greatness in war without such knowledge, for genius is but a capacity to grasp and apply details.

These observations are not for the "heaven-born," who from their closets scan with eagle glance fields of battle, whose mighty pens slay their thousands and their tens of thousands, and in whose "Serbonian" inkstands "armies whole" disappear; but it is hoped that they may prove useful to the young adopting the profession of arms, who may feel assured that the details of the art of war afford "scope and verge" for the employment of all their faculties. Conscientious study will not perhaps make them great, but it will make them respectable; and when the responsibility of command comes, they will not disgrace their flag, injure their cause, nor murder their men.

² Some of the early pages of this work were published in the number of the "North American Review" for January, 1878, including the above account of a conference at Washington between President Lincoln, Secretary Stanton, and General Grant. In the "New York Herald" of May 27, 1878, appears an interview with General Grant, in which the latter says, "The whole story is a fabrication, and whoever vouched for it to General Taylor vouched for a fiction." General Halleck, who was at the time in question Chief of Staff at the war office, related the story of this conference to me in New Orleans, where he was on a visit from Louisville, Ky., then his headquarters. Several years later General Joseph E. Johnston gave me the same account, which he had from another officer of the United States Army, also at the time in the war office. A letter from General Johnston, confirming the accuracy of my relation, has been published. Since, I have received a letter, dated New York, June 6, 1878, wherein the writer states that in Washington, in 1868 or 1869, he had an account of this conference, as I give it, from General John A. Logan of Illinois. When calling for reënforcements, after his losses in the Wilderness, General Grant reminded Stanton of his opposition to the land route in their conference, but added that "he would now fight it out on this line if it takes all summer." The writer of this communication is quite unknown to me, but manifests his sincerity by suggesting that I should write to General Logan, who, he doubts not, will confirm his statement. I have not so written, because I have no acquaintance with General Logan, and no desire to press the matter further. From many sources comes evidence that a conference was held, which General Grant seems to deny. Moreover, I cannot forget that in one notable instance a question of fact was raised against General Grant, with much burden of evidence; and while declaiming any wish or intent of entering on another, one may hold in all charity that General Grant's memory may be as treacherous about facts as mine proved about a date, when, in a letter to the "Herald," I stupidly gave two years after General Halleck's death as the time of his conversation with me. These considerations have determined me to let the account of the conference stand as originally written.