George McClellan says farewell

NOV. 7, 1862, marked a beginning and an end for the Army of the Potomac. It marked the beginning of the Fredericksburg Campaign, and it marked the end of George B. McClellan's tenure as the army's commander.

“Little Mac,” as his men affectionately called him, had taken command of the Union’s largest army more than a year earlier, in August 1861, following its defeat at Bull Run. Over the next eight months he had trained and reorganized the army, fashioning it into a formidable weapon.

But McClellan soon demonstrated that he was more skilled at creating an army than in leading one. In a weeklong series of battles known collectively as the Seven Days, he had allowed his army to be driven back from the gates of Richmond by a much smaller Confederate army led by Gen. Robert E. Lee.

When Lee then moved north into Maryland, McClellan headed him off at Antietam Creek, near the town of Sharpsburg. In the single bloodiest day of fighting in American history, “Little Mac” forced Lee’s army to return to Virginia.

McClellan believed he had saved the Union. Upon closer inspection, however, it appeared that he had not so much saved the Union as he had squandered an opportunity to destroy the Southern army. At Antietam, Lee was heavily outnumbered and had his back to the Potomac River, making retreat difficult. Had he been more aggressive, McClellan could have smashed Lee’s army and brought a quick end to the war.

But, unfortunately for the Union, McClellan was a cautious man. Slow, sure movements were his way; bold risks and fast marches ran counter to his nature. At the heart of his caution was the unshakable belief that the Confederate army outnumbered him by at least two to one. No matter that reliable intelligence sources placed the number of Confederate soldiers at barely half his strength: McClellan continued to believe that he was heavily outnumbered. And an outnumbered general should not take chances.

And so he continued to plod along, loved by his troops but doing little to end the war. That brought him into conflict with President Abraham Lincoln. Lincoln needed fighting generals that would bring the war to a speedy conclusion, and McClellan simply would not fight.

Week after week the president prodded his idle general to advance and engage the enemy, and week after week “Little Mac” put him off, stubbornly refusing to risk his army in battle. The president tried to reason with the general. “Are you not over-cautious when you assume that you can not do what the enemy is constantly doing?” he asked. “Should you not claim to be at least his equal in prowess, and act upon the claim?”

The president urged McClellan to stick close to the Rebels and look for a chance to strike. “I would press closely to him, fight him if a favorable opportunity should present, and, at least, try to beat him to Richmond on the inside track. I say ‘try’; if we never try, we shall never succeed.”

Still, McClellan refused to budge. In an effort to prod the general into action, Lincoln paid him a personal visit. The meeting only left the president more frustrated than before. As he was returning to Washington, he gazed back upon the sea of white tents stretched out below him. Turning to an acquaintance, Lincoln asked, “Do you know what this is?”

“It is the Army of the Potomac,” the man replied, a bit puzzled.

“So it is called,” Lincoln replied, “but that is a mistake; it is only McClellan's bodyguard.”

The president’s patience was clearly wearing thin. When yet another month passed without a battle, Lincoln determined to rid himself of the popular general once and for all. On Nov. 7, he sent a War Department official, Gen. Catharinus P. Buckingham, to the army with orders relieving McClellan of command and appointing Gen. Ambrose E. Burnside in his place.

McClellan took the news calmly. He viewed the situation as merely temporary. When Burnside failed (as McClellan was sure he would) and the Confederate army was threatening Washington, the administration would beg for him to return. Until then, he would bide his time.

McClellan formally transferred command of the army to Burnside on Nov. 9, 1862. The news echoed through the army like a thunderclap. McClellan had been like a father to the soldiers, and news of his dismissal elicited strong emotion. Some officers resigned their commissions in protest; others called on McClellan to resist the order, march on Washington, and set up a military dictatorship.

To his credit, the general refused to countenance such action and relinquished the command peacefully.

McClellan’s parting message to his army reflected his affection for his men.

“In parting from you I cannot express the love and gratitude I bear to you. As an army you have grown up under my care. ... The battles you have fought under my command will proudly live in our Nation’s history. The glory you have achieved, our mutual perils and fatigues, the graves of our comrades fallen in battle and by disease, the broken forms of those whom wounds and sickness have disabled—the strongest associations which can exist among men—unite us still by an indissoluble tie. Farewell!”

Before departing for his home in New Jersey, the general held one last review of his beloved army. As he rode along the broad ranks of men, the soldiers cheered and threw their hats in the air. Others expressed their love by shedding tears. No one who experienced the scene was unmoved.

“We have just come in from a funeral,” wrote one officer, “—the funeral of departed hopes. A more sorrowful time I have never seen in the army than just now.” No one felt McClellan’s departure more sensibly than Ambrose Burnside, the genial Midwesterner on whose unwilling shoulders now rested the mantle of command.

Next: Burnside takes command.