A Stillness at Appomattox (159 page)

The
bishop
believed
that
the
consciousness
of
wealth
and power
had
a
direct
effect
on
the
mental
attitude
of
the
Northern
soldiers
and
the
Northern
people.
Everyone
he
talked to
seemed
obsessed
with
the
greatness
and
destiny
of
the Federal
Union.
He
found
"a
universal
horror
of
rebellion," which
made
people
feel
that
Rebels
were
almost
"outside the
pale
of
humanity,"
so
that
it
was
no
sin
to
commit
almost any
sort
of
outrage
on
Southern
people
or
property.
It seemed
to
the
good
bishop
that
this
was
not
merely
a
purse-proud
complacency;
it
was
something
that
looked
far
past the
present,
beyond
the
war
to
a
future
greatness
for
the whole
country
that
would
go
beyond
all
present
comprehension.
He
wrote:
"Their
idol
is
less
the
Union
of
the
past
than the
sublime
Union
of
the
future,
destined
soon
to
overshadow all
the
nations."
⁵

There
was
power
in
this
sentiment,
and
as
the
fall
progressed
it
seemed
to
overshadow
ever
ything
else.
It
even dominated
the
one
great
emotional
drive
which
had
been bred
into
the
very
bones
of
the
Army
of
the
Potomac—the love
which
the
army
still
felt
for
General
McClellan.
As
election
day
approached
there
was
much
talk
of
McClellan
among the
veterans.
A
Quaker
nurse
at
the
City
Point
hospital
wrote in
September
that
"if
it
is
left
to
the
soldiers,
his
election
is sure,"
and
it
was
clear
that
the
old
affection
for
the
handsome
little
general
still
ran
strong.
⁶

"Soldiers'
eyes
would
brighten
when
they
talked
of
him," one
veteran
recalled.
"Their
hard,
lean,
browned
faces
would soften
and
light
up
with
affection
when
they
spoke
of
him" —and
yet,
he
continued,
it
was
affection
only.
There
was
not, in
the
showdown,
anything
in
it
that
would
carry
the
election.
Talking
things
over,
the
veterans
agreed
that
they
had been
a
better,
stronger
army
in
1862,
when
McClellan commanded,
than
they
were
now
in
1864,
under
Grant.
Yet they
also
agreed
that
if
Grant
had
commanded
in
1862
the war
would
have
been
won
in
that
year,
while
if
McClellan had
commanded
in
1864
'Tie
would
have
ended
the
war
in the
Wilderness—by
establishing
the
Confederacy."

A
man
in
the
20th
Maine
wrote
that
McClellan
still
was

"almost
worshiped"
by
the
soldiers,
but
that
very
few
would vote
for
him.
By
and
large,
they
interpreted
his
candidacy much
as
the
Confederates
did:
to
vote
against
Lincoln
would be
to
consent
to
dissolution
of
the
Union.
An
officer
in
what was
left
of
the
Iron
Brigade,
musing
about
the
election,
put his
thoughts
on
paper:
"On
one
side
is
war,
and
stubborn, patient
effort
to
restore
the
old
Union
and
national
honor; on
the
other
side
is
inglorious
peace
and
shame,
the
old truckling
subserviency
to
Southern
domination,
and
a
base alacrity
in
embracing
some
vague,
deceptive
political
subterfuge
instead
of
honorable
and
clearly
defined
principles."
⁷

And
so,
when
election
day
came,
the
veterans
voted
by
resounding
majorities
against
McClellan,
voted
for
Lincoln
and for
war
to
the
bitter
end—and,
voting
so,
swung
shut
forever a
door
into
their
own
past.

For
McClellan
had
always
been
the
great
symbol.
He
was the
trumpets
these
soldiers
had
heard
and
the
flags
they
had carried
and
the
faraway,
echoing
cheers
they
had
raised:
the leader
of
an
unreal
army
which
had
come
marching
out
of the
horn
gates
with
golden
light
on
its
banners,
an
impossible
sunrise
staining
the
sky
above
its
path,
and
now
it
had gone
into
the
land
of
remembered
dreams.
Everything
that these
men
had,
one
supposes,
they
would
have
given
to
be again
the
army
McClellan
had
commanded
and
to
have
him again
for
a
leader,
and
yet
they
did
not
try
to
vote
the
past back
into
existence
because
they
were
fond
young
men
no longer.
They
had
come
of
age
and
they
gave
history
something
new
to
look
at,
not
seen
before
in
all
the
record
of
wars and
men
of
war—the
sight,
that
is,
of
veteran
soldiers
who had
long
outlived
enthusiasm
and
heroics
walking
quietly
up to
ballot
boxes
and
voting
for
more
war
to
be
fought
by
themselves
instead
of
voting
for
an
end
to
it
and
no
more
fighting.