bt now of the consummate tact of McClellan's
retreat. It is _the_ bright page in the northern annals of strategy.
Beaten each day and driven from his well-chosen strongholds--clearly
chosen with a view to such necessities--he still held his army
thoroughly in his grasp and carried it off in such order as no Federal
force had yet preserved in the face of retreat. Only the resistless
impetuosity of the southern troops drove all before them; and though
careful analysis may prove in theory that, but for the blunder of a
subordinate, Lee could one day have utterly destroyed him, this fact
should not detract, in the impartial mind, from the great ability of
McClellan which really prevented it.

Still, up to the last bloody day at Malvern Hill, the city lay open to
the Federal general had he known the truth. Between him and the coveted
prize was a mere handful of men, who could have offered but slight
resistance to his overwhelming numbers; the main army of defense was in
his front, further away than many points of his retreat; and, had he
fully understood the position, a bold and dashing stroke of generalship
might have turned the scale, spite of all the red successes of southern
arms. More than once in the "Seven Days" a rapid march by the flank
would have put McClellan in possession of the Capital and secured him
in its strong defenses; from which the wearied troops of Lee could
scarcely have ejected him.

But it was not to be. When the shattered and torn Confederates drew
off, like lions at bay, from the horrid slopes of Malvern Hill--leaving
them drenched with priceless blood and piled thick with near one-third
their number--McClellan declined further battle and withdrew his beaten
army to the fleet.

He had made a great retreat. But he had lost his great stake.

When the armies lay at Mechanicsville, both were plainly visible from
many points in the city. From the Capitol, miles of encampment could be
seen, spreading out like a map; and in the dusk the red flash of each
gun and the fiery trail of its fatal messenger were painfully distinct.
The evening before Hill's advance, the poet-librarian of the Capitol
was pointing out the localities to a company of officers and ladies.
Among them was a lady who had suffered much in the flesh and been
driven from her home for brave exertions in that cause, which was in
the end to leave her widowed spirit with no hope on this side of the
narrow house. A terrific thunderstorm had