you." The eighth and ninth were spent in
handing over; and on the tenth McClellan made his official farewell.
Next day he was entraining at Warrenton Junction when the men,
among whom he was immensely popular, broke ranks and swarmed round
his car, cursing the Government and swearing they would follow
no one but their "Old Commander." McClellan, with all his faults
in the field, was a good organizer, an extremely able engineer,
a very brave soldier, a very sympathetic comrade in arms, and a
regular father to his men, whose personal interests were always his
first care. The moment was critical. McClellan, had he chosen, might
have imitated the Roman generals who led the revolts of Praetorian
Guards. But he stepped out on the front platform of the car, held
up his hand, and, amid tense silence, asked the men to "stand by
General Burnside as you have stood by me." The car they had uncoupled
to prevent his departure was run up and coupled again; and then,
amid cheers of mournful farewell, they let him go.

General Ambrose E. Burnside was expected to smash Lee, take Richmond,
and end the war at once. He was a good subordinate, but quite unfit
for supreme command, which he accepted only under protest. Moreover,
he was not supported as he should have been by the War Department,
nor even by the Headquarter Staff. While changing his position from
Warrenton to Fredericksburg he was hampered by avoidable delays.
So when he reached Falmouth he found Lee had forestalled him on
the opposing heights of Fredericksburg itself.

The disastrous thirteenth of December was dull, calm, and misty.
But presently the sun shone down with unwonted warmth; the mists
rolled up like curtains; and there stood 200,000 men, arrayed in
order of battle: 80,000 Confederates awaiting the onslaught of
120,000 Federals.

On came the solid masses of the Federals, eighty thousand strong,
with forty in support, amid the thunder of five hundred attacking
and defending guns. The sunlight played upon the rising tide of
Federal bayonets as on sea currents when they turn inshore. The
colors waved proudly as ever; and to the outward eye the attack
seemed almost strong enough to drive the stern and silent gray
Confederates clear off the crest. But the indispensable morale was
wanting. For this was the end of a long campaign, full of drawn
battles and terrible defeats. Burnside was an unpopular substitute
for McClellan; he was not in any way a great commander; and