map and asked his Secretary of War for the latest on the whereabouts of McClellan and Lee. "Our army has finally put all its units across the Potomac into Virginia," Stanton reported. "It's been seven long weeks since Antietam." Lincoln nodded and asked for specifics. McClellan's headquarters was in now Rectortown, near Warrenton; the general was complaining of lack of shoes for his men, and wanted more carbines and muskets, but he was un- doubtedly on the move to engage the enemy. Lee's army was again separated by the Blue Ridge Mountains, with Jackson's corps on the western side in the Shenandoah Valley and Longstreet's troops down at Culpepper Court House. Apparently McClellan planned to strike down the east side of the mountain range at Longstreet, driving him back on Gordonsville before Jackson could unite with him. From there, Mac could take the Fredericksburg route to Richmond or try to talk Lincoln into letting him try the Peninsula route again. The President noticed something as Stanton was talking; strange, how maps could speak to you about armies. If Longstreet was in Culpepper, that meant he was in McClellan's front; no longer could Lincoln hope that the Federal forces could cut off Lee's army from the rear. A case could be made, then, and would readily be understood by the public, that Lee's army had "escaped." Although he could no longer relieve McClellan on the grounds that he was not actively pursuing Leeindeed, McClellan seemed in the process of making a major attackhe could relieve the general on the grounds that he had allowed Lee to slip his army between McClellan and Richmond, to escape. The President could say that had always been his crite- rion for replacing his field commander. Because replace him he must. The victory of the Democrats in the elec- tions, combined with what Schurz rightly recognized was the West Point crowd's unhealthy dominance of the army, had flung down a gauntlet. Lin- coln knew he faced a stark choice: either back away from emancipation, ease up on the Democratic dissidents, woo the Republican conservatives, and ac- cept the policy laid down in McClellan's Harrison's Landing planor do just the opposite; ignore the election results, crack down on the agitators, lay a strong hand on the colored element by using them as soldiers, fire McClellan and root out the West Point mind-set in the army. The President crossed to the desk, took out a quill and ink, rummaged in the drawer for paper, and composed a message. "Take this to Halleck," he told Stanton, knowing the Secretary would approve without hesitation. "I want this under his signature, not mine or yours." That was what Halleck was for: professional military coloration. , Stanton read it aloud: "By direction of the President, it is ordered that Major General McClellan be relieved from command of the Army of the Potomac; and that Major General Burnside take command of that Army." Stanton nodded vigorously. "Leave it undated," he said. "We want to give Halleck some discretion in sending it. It should be taken to Burnside first by a high-ranking officer, then to McClellan in person only after Burnside says he is willing to do his duty. I would not trust this to the telegraph; it may be that McClellan will listen to the traitors around him and try to march his army to take control of Washington." Lincoln agreed, glad that Stanton had not tried to make an argument for Chase's choice, General Hooker; Burnside seemed more solid than the flam- boyant "Fighting Joe." Also, McClellan was a longtime friend of Burnside, and that choice of a successor would be less likely to ignite an army coup. Stanton gave Lincoln another suggestion: "Perhaps you should relieve Por- ter in the same order and give his command to Hooker. If Burnside gets an attack of modesty, Hooker and not Porter would be next in line to take command, and we need somebody like Hooker to stop what the West Pointers call 'a change of front to Washington.' And then I want to court-martial Porter for not supporting Pope back at Bull Runthat will break the back of the whole cabal." Lincoln saw the wisdom in that and wrote it out: "That Major General Fitz-John Porter be relieved from the command of the corps he now com- mands in said Army; and that Major General Hooker take command of said corps." That was the sort of tough-minded response to the election needed to whip the North into line. Lincoln knew it was not his usual way, of pushing others out ahead of him and appearing to be led in their direction, but sometimes a sharp blow needed a more forceful return blow. Stanton said he would dispatch a general in his office to carry the secret order to Burnside, and then to McClellan, putting a new man in command of the 142,000 well-organized troops of the Army of the Potomac. "No one else is to know," Stanton sternly adjured him, "no other member of the Cabinet, Blair especially. This must not get out to McClellan through any source but the general I send to him." Lincoln pledged absolute secrecy; it would be hard playing shut-pan with Old Man Blair, who was coming to see him that night at the Soldiers' Home, but it was clearly necessary. "We'll have to inform Chase," Stanton said, adding with what struck Lin- coln as an unfortunate note of vindictiveness: "Chase has an officer who will make sure we get the right verdict in the court-martial of Porter." Lincoln was fairly sure that the only way to overcome electoral defeat and a loss of thirty-two seats in the 179-man House was surely a defeatwas a show of renewed authority, followed by military victory. The place would be the gateway to Richmond, perhaps in the vicinity of Fredericksburg, and the man of the hour would be Ambrose Burnside. CHAPTER 18 1 PLAYING SHUT-PAN Francis Preston Blair drove his carriage the short distance from his Silver Spring home to the Soldiers' Home, where the President was staying. Lin- coln, sitting on the porch in the crisp early winter evening, seemed curiously relaxed for a man whose party has just been trounced in an election. He congratulated Blair on his son's victory amidst the general Republican deba- cle in the House, and allowed as how the election result was largely caused by the absence of good Republicans who were away from home fighting the war, and the baneful effect of the newspapers. The Old Man did not argue. Above all, he was determined not to become an I-told-you-so on the effect of emancipation in New York, where Greeley now looked the fool and Weed and Seward the wizards. Presidents, he knew, did not welcome advisers to tell them why they had been wrong. At times like these, presidents needed sympathetic listeners to the lame excuses, and men who could offer sensible advice as to what to do next to ameliorate the losses. "I would like to make the case for retaining McClellan," he said at the appropriate moment. "Monty tells me you're on the verge." "I have tried long enough," Lincoln replied, "to bore with an auger too dull to take hold." "A certain torpidity of McClellan's must be infuriating at times," Blair admitted, rolling with the President's evident distaste toward the com- mander, "but consider the difficulty, as I am sure you must have, of finding any other general capable of wielding so great a force and so complicated a machine." "He has got the slows, Mr. Blair." "You're right. That is why it would be important to send some common friend of yours and his to reach an explicit understanding with him. Tell him what the President expected him to do and when, and tell him that absolute and prompt obedience was the tenure by which alone he held his command." Lincoln looked at the night sky. It seemed to Blair that the President felt his talks with McClellan at Antietam obviated the need for an intermediary. Those talks had produced merely a six-week delay, at a time Lincoln needed a pre-election military victory. "I'm not qualified to make the military argument," said Blair, he hoped disarmingly. "Maybe it took too long, but he's now across the Potomac, aggressively seeking out the enemy. He surely has a plan to divide the forces of Lee and Jackson and defeat them in detail, but I understand he has been unwilling to share that plan with you. That should be rectified right away." "You're giving the military argument," Lincoln reminded him. "Let's talk politics, then. What would be the political result of your super- seding McClellan? You would be seen as yielding once more to the ultras in our party, and acting in defiance of the majority that just spoke in the elec- tion. That would weaken you at a time you cannot afford to be weakened." "No doubt the bottom is out of the tub," the President said. "If, on the contrary," the Old Man continued, "McClellan could be pushed hard now, on the line he has taken, and compelled to make a vigorous winter campaign, what political effect would that have?" , The President just listened. Blair took that uncharacteristic response to mean that Stanton and Chase had persuaded him to get even with the voters by ridding himself of McClellan. Why? It was illogical, on the basis of the facts in hand; the Old Man sensed that there must be another element in all this of which the Biairs were in the dark. Ever since midsumme.", when Lincoln returned from his meeting with the general at Harrison's Landing, the Blair espousal of McClellan's cause had been met with a certain numb- ness. Had the general said anything insubordinate or overtly political? "Consider for a moment what your strong support of McClellan would mean," he went on, squinting at the expressionless face of the President. "The Democrats in the Congress, who are in heart on the side of oligarchy and the South, would be compelled to make war on McClellan. In turn, McClellan would be compelled to take sides with you, bringing to your support in the Congress the real War Democrats." "Interesting theory, Mr. Blair." The former adviser to Jackson warmed to his theme. "After that, those trying to resuscitate the Democratic Party to carry the presidency in 1864 would necessarily take an anti-McClellan man for their candidate. That would split the Democrats and enable you to win again." "And if, as a general, McClellan fails?" "He fails as a Democrat and the Democrats fail with him. At least your cause would best be served by retaining him until he failedand I do not believe he would, given a new impetus." The President slowly shook his head. Blair, losing him, tried one last time: "If you replace him now, on the very eve of battle, and his replacement fails, then the Democrats will unite behind a formidable ticket in sixty-four: Mc- Clellan and Seymour. That could beat you, and everything we all stand for." Lincoln seemed on the brink of confiding something, then held back. He rose, stretched his arms, and closed the discussion with, "I'm sorry to play shut-pan with you." Let Lincoln keep his own counsel; it would not be the first time that advisers who had been all too accurate in their dire predictions were snubbed by a President stung by the consequences of not listening to good advice. On his way back to Silver Spring, the elder Blair focused on his goal: the best route for his youngest son to the vice-presidential nomination in two or six yearsas either Republican or Democrat. A partnership with Lincoln would be best. If that did not work out, there was always the possibility of an alliance with Horatio Seymour. CHAPTER 19 BLOODLESS WATERLOO "Pinkerton reports a special train from Washington arrived at Rectortown a couple of hours ago," Colonel Thomas Key told McClellan abruptly, "with Stanton's aide, General Buckingham." "Secure the flap," McClellan said, motioning toward the tent entrance, "the snow is coming in." , Key moved to the entrance, but backed away as Captain Custer struggled in out of the storm. "Buckingham is not coming here," Custer added to Key's report. "He's ridden to Bumside's headquarters at Salem, about five miles from here." "That's worrisome," Key told McClellan. "If Stanton is dealing directly with your corps commanders, it could mean a change of command is in the works." McClellan nodded understanding. "Judge, I have been told about your young nephew's gallant death at Perryville. I've written to your brother John"he interjected sadly"the former Major Key. He must be doubly crushed." Key took off his greatcoat before answering and moved near the stove for warmth. McClellan noted his pallor, and the film of sweat on his face; he was ill, perhaps the typhus, picked upjust after the fighting at Antietam. "Sixteen, the boy was," Key replied. "Picked up a regimental flag and led a charge. I suppose that balances the family disgrace." "Mightn't that change the President's mind?" Key said with sadness that his brother's appeal, notwithstanding the death of the boy, had been turned down. Evidently, to President Lincoln, a lesson was a lesson: there could be no mercy in the setting of an example to the military. "I can imagine what they're conspiring in Burnside's tent," said Custer, getting to the central issue. "But the army won't stand for it." "Don't talk that way, Captain," Key snapped. "The Secretary of War has the right to send an aide to see any commander in the army. It's no conspir- acy." "Stanton is doing his best to sacrifice this army again," Custer replied hotly. "For God's sake, Colonel, just one week ago, Lincoln telegraphed how pleased he was with the movement of this army. Why is Stanton sending messengers to talk to Burnside behind the general's back?" "It could be that we haven't taken Washington into our confidence suffi- ciently, General," Key said to McClellan. "That isn't the problem," McClellan said. He felt at the peak of his powers more sure of himself, satisfied with his line of supply from Harpers Ferry, no complaints about needed reinforcementsand confident, after Antietam, that he could defeat Lee again. He had won two in a row, counting the last battle on the Peninsula. He knew how to take advantage of Lee's rashness and over-reliance on Jackson. "Halleck certainly knows how I intend to interpose my army between Longstreet and Jackson," he explained. "Mr. Lincoln may not agree with my strategy, but he surely knows what it is." "Lincoln needed a military victory so he could win a political victory," said Custer flatly and, McClellan thought, accurately. "Simple as that." "Just as we think the President wanted us to speed up the battle to take place before the elections," Key said carefully, "the radicals think we have been waiting until after Election Day to launch our offensive." The general found some truth in that suspicion, too; it was easy to sit in Washington and order a tired and bloodied army of 140,000 men, short of shoes, to march immediately. Experienced generals knew that it took at least sixty days to reprovision and reorganize between major engagements. "You don't understand," said Custer urgently. "They're planning to court- martial us all. The black Republicans cannot admit that their darling Pope lost at Second Bull Run, and that the man they hate won at Antietati. They have to prove that Pope's loss was our fault, and blacken our names forever. They'll court-martial McClellan, Porter, you, meeverybody who isn't a damned abolitionist." Key's shudder told McClellan there was something in what Armstrong Custer was saying: rumors were rife of a court-martial board aimed at Mc- Clellan, Fitz-John Porter, and other unnamed "West Pointers" unsympa- thetic to abolition. Lincoln's personal cashiering of Key's brother John was a deliberate signal; now that the elections were over, and the radical defeat blamed on McClellan's "inactivity," Wade and the rest would be going after the scalps of all those at the top of the Army of the Potomac. But Bumside was exempt, as was Hooker, both outspoken abolitionists. The charge of treason would probably be leveled at McClellan, surely at Porter, and perhaps others who had failed to get Pope out of his scrape. Small wonder, the general thought, that the reaction of a portion of the officer corps to the beheading of McClellan's army would be to demand that McClellan march on Washington. If the officers were to be denounced as traitors any- way, why notas Patrick Henry once put itmake the most of it? "Lincoln and Stanton and Halleck have fought you every step of the way," Custer was pressing on. "At the Peninsula, when reinforcements would have enabled you to take Richmond from the rear, they brought McDowell's forty thousand men back to sit in Washington to guard the Mansion." The general nodded. "In the end, whoever is in command will have to follow my plan," he predicted calmly. "From Games' Mill, Cold Harbor, the Federal forces will have to move to the James River to make Richmond untenable." "Then they abandoned the only way to take Richmond," Custer said, "and put their favorite abolitionist, Pope, in charge of a doomed campaign. And in that disaster, not only do they blame you for not coming to his rescue but, by God, Lincoln was willing to surrender Washington rather than give the com- mand back to you!" "Stanton, Chase, and Halleck," McClellan corrected him. "Not Lincoln. Be fair." "Halleck was wrong every step of the way toward Antietam," Custer went on. "I have all the telegrams warning you against following Lee north into Maryland. If you had listened to that nonsense, Lee would be in New York today. You were the only one who could organize this army, and the only one who saw where it had to move to stop Lee from defeating the North. Lincoln and his crowd were all wrong, first to last. Now they want to disgrace and maybe hang you, take the army into battle with a damned incompetent who couldn't get his men across a bridge at Antietam all day longand all be- cause the damned politicians want to be sure you don't emerge the hero of the war!" "Take care not to talk treason," warned Key, mindful of his brother's fate. "You know as well as I do what Stanton said to the radical senators," Custer shot back. "He said, It is not on our books that McClellan shall take Richmond.' I say that is the real treason. General, the radicals hate you and they fear you, and they are willing to sacrifice this army rather than see it victorious under you." McClellan looked to his older aide, a man of the law and a good Democrat, albeit an abolitionist, to counter Ouster's passion. "Armstrong, we do not know what message it is that General Buckingham bears, if any," said Colonel Key. "We also know that General Bumside, who may be irritated at the moment because of our criticism of his inaction at Antietam, knows his limitations." "That's fair to say," judged McClellan. "He turned down the command before, when they gave it to Pope. Burn knows better than anybody that he cannot command the entire army in the field." "He'll follow political orders," disagreed Custer, "and take the Army of the Potomac to bloody disaster." "Let's hope Bumside asks Buckingham for a delay," said Key, speaking his hopes. "We only need a few days, then we'll be out of telegraphic contact with Washington and into battle." "We'll see," McClellan said. "I don't have to make any decision yet." "General," Custer pleaded, "this army loves you. You have a responsibility to save tens of thousands of these brave men from certain death. Do not submit to an order that history will condemn as the most brazen injustice ever motivated by politics. Lead us, Generalthe Army of the Potomac will follow you." McClellan studied the pen he had been using to write to his wife. The post- election dismissal of a general on the eve of battleespecially a general loved by the troops, to be replaced by one distrusted by the troopswould send a wave of anger through every corps and regiment. The army knew it was ready to fight, and about to fight, and the injustice, not to say the danger, of firing a commander on the pretext of not being ready or about to fight would profoundly affect the main body of troops. All it would take would be one moment of anger, and in twenty-four hours the coup d'6tat would be accom- plished. "History does not remember Cromwell kindly," Key said. "It remembers Caesar kindly enough," countered Custer. "This is the United States of America, a republic," Key said. "For nearly a century we have abided by a constitution, as no other nation in history ever has. General, do you want to be the man remembered as the one who shat- tered that tradition of political stability?" When McClellan remained impas- sive, Key put in a practical point: "Besides, Lincoln will never get Burn to agree to replace you." The general, ever the tactician, smiled ruefully: "Unless he threatens to appoint Hooker instead. Burn couldn't stand that." "I am unfit for the command," Bumside told Stanton's messenger unequiv- ocally. "Do you have any idea what it is like to try to figure out what Bobby Lee and Thomas Jackson are about to do? And then to be responsible for the lives of thousands of men who trust your judgment, when you do not trust it yourself?" In Ambrose Bumside's tent, snow swirling outside, Brigadier General Catharinus Putnam Buckingham began what he knew to be the only impor- tant military mission of his life: to persuade the man Lincoln had chosen to be commander of the Army of the Potomac to accept the assignment, clearing the way for the relief of George McClellan. "I taught a little topography at West Point thirty years ago," Buckingham said. "Ever since, I've been a professor of mathematics at Kenyon College in Ohio. Couple of years ago, I built a grain elevator; that's my only accomplish- ment. I wear this star because Stanton thinks his adjutant should have one. I'm not a military man, sir. I can't answer your question." Burnside sighed. "What does Stanton expect me to do that McClellan cannot do?" "The Secretary of War has no confidence in McClellan's military ability." "He's wrong. If he thinks I am a better general than McClellan, he's out of his mind. Ask the officers, ask the men. Ask me." "Moreover," Buckingham carried on, "he has grave doubts about McClel- lan's patriotism and loyalty." "Just as George doubts Stanton's, but that's a personal dispute between two men. Surely President Lincoln does not subscribe to the Secretary's harsh indictment of a loyal soldier's patriotism." "The President doesn't take me into his confidence, General, but I know this: Mr. Lincoln has said that if McCleHan permitted Lee to slip away, he would fire him." "What the hell does that mean?" "I was hoping you'd know." "But that's nonsense." Buckingham biinked. It seemed to make sense to most of those who heard it. "Don't tell the President I said this," Burnside reasoned, "but that cannot be the reason he wants to remove McClellan. General Lee is not a fool. He is not going to let any Union army get behind him to attack Richmond. There has never been any chance of thatnot right after Antietam, not now. Every time McClellan moves South to threaten Lee's communications, Lee retreats South. Pete Longstreet just isn't the sort to let us run around behind him. To think that is justsilly. Is that what Stanton expects the commander to do?" "No," Buckingham said hastily. "Not nowthat chance to stop Lee's escape has passed. Lincoln and Halleck have a plan to drive Lee down to the Rappahannock, cross on pontoon bridges, and strike him near Fredericks- burg." "McClellan has a better plan," said Burnside. "To catch Lee much sooner, near Gordonsville, with Jackson the other side of the Blue Ridge." "Lincoln's plan would offer more protection to Washington," the mathe- matics professor said, "I think. But General, I cannot really argue strategy. I must know if you are willing to do your duty and accept command." "I have always done my duty. Sometimes duty demands that you inform your superiors of a mistake." "But you don't understand, Burnsideunless I have your agreement, I cannot deliver the order to McClellan relieving him of command." "Why not?" Buckingham decided that Burnside might just be as thick as he made himself out to be. "Because if we do not have a man immediately in place when we dismiss him, McClellan might just take the army to Washington tomorrow and proclaim himself dictator. That's why." Burnside thought that over. "Lincoln complains that McClellan has the slows. And yet we are now on the eve of battle, if McClellan stays. If I were to take over, I would need at least a month to organize staff, to get into position. More likely six weeks before any major engagement." "The President and the Secretary are aware of that. You won't be rushed." Burnside frowned, stroking his strange whiskers. "Then delay is not Lin- coln's reason either, is it?" Buckingham was on the verge of giving up. He played his last card. "My orders, General, are first to obtain your agreement, and secondly, with you at my side, present General McClellan with his dismissal. But if you fail to accept your responsibility, my orders are to proceed to General Hooker and make the same arrangement with him. I am told he is sufficiently recovered from his wound to take command." Burnside snorted. "Some 'wound'! If Joe Hooker had had the courage to stay and fight at Antietam, I would have carried that bridge early in the day apd Lee would have been routed and the war over. Hooker's appointment would be a disaster." "In effect, you are ceding the command to him." Buckingham let Burnside agonize in silence. Finally Burnside said, "My appointment is merely a mistake. Hooker's would be a catastrophe." He sighed. "Let's go and tell George." A half hour before midnight, as he was writing to his wife, McClellan heard a tap on the tent pole. He called out for whoever it was to enter, and was not surprised to see Burnside and Halleck's adjutant, the mathematics teacher. He greeted them cordially, ignoring the solemn looks on both faces, and engaged them in conversation to show his lack of concern at their mission. "I think we had better tell General McClellan the object of our visit," Buckingham told Burnside, who nodded glumly. Stanton's adjutant handed over the orders signed by Halleck: "General: On receipt of the order of the President, sent herewith, you will immediately turn over your command to Maj. Gen. Burnside, and repair to Trenton, N. J., reporting on your arrival at that place, by telegraph, for further orders." McClellan saw that both men, especially Buckingham, were watching him most intently as he read the order and the attachment making the removal official. The mathematics teacher in a general's uniform from Stanton's office surely knew McClellan had the power to reject the order, to protect himself and his leading officers from courts-martial and possible execution, and to make himself commander in chief. Poor Burn was probably hoping McClel- lan would do just that, saving him from the terrible choice of taking un- wanted command or handing this fine army over to Hooker. McClellan knew what he had to do because he had no doubt about what he was: an officer of the United States Army and a loyal American citizen. He handed the papers to his unhappy and fearful friend with a brief, "Well, Burnside, I turn the command over to you." He said it as if no other course were thinkable; George McClellan hoped that never again would a military officer of the United States be faced with the temptation presented to him that night. Buckingham closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if the other course had been narrowly averted. Stanton had probably poisoned the man's mind, McClellan assumed, causing him to expect a loyal soldier to turn traitor and usurper. "I will leave in the morning, Burn. You have been as near as possible to me on this march, and I have kept you closely informed on the condition of affairs. You ought to be able to take the reins in your hands without a day's delay." McClellan had planned for this eventuality, assuming that Lincoln would turn to Burnside, who was acceptable to the radicals, rather than to the respected Fitz-John Porter, the only general other than himself capable of facing Lee. He wondered which of them would face court-martial, Porter or himself, or both. The trial of George McClellan would certainly be dramatic, but perhaps too divisive; the radicals would probably go after Fitz instead. He had hoped for more from Lincoln, especially after that last message of encouragement. Surely the President knew the next battle would be decisive, and it was less than a week away. Had he shown the commander in chief the proper respect? On mature reflection, he had to admit not always, certainly not in the beginning. But now that McClellan was showing his willingness to work in tandem with the civilian side, his service was rejected. He could see an irony in that, a belated justice that became injustice. "I beseech you," Burnside said, "stay a few days, settle the officers down. I need you to transfer their loyalty over to me, as much as possible." "To stay a revolt," Buckingham put it plainly. Poor Burn; again, McClellan would have to try to save him, at least loni enough to stumble into an engagement planned by Lincoln himself. Stayin. on as the replaced commander would be painfully demeaning, but McClellai would do his duty. He consented. His two visitors shouldered their way out o the tent into the driving snow. He took up his pen and continued the one comfort of his life in the field, i letter to Nellie. "Another interruption, this time more important. It was ii the shape of Bumside, accompanied by Gen. Buckingham. They brough with them the order relieving me from the command of the Army of thi Potomac. No cause is given. "Alas for my poor country! I know in my inmost heart she never had i truer servant. Do not be at all worried, my dear Nellie1 am not. I havi done the best I could for my country; to the last I have done my duty as understand it. That I must have made many mistakes, I cannot deny. I do no see any great blunders, but no one can judge of himself. Our consolation mus be that we have tried to do what is right." What would have been wrong was to seize the presidency. What he ha( come to see was right was to challenge Lincoln legitimately, in two years time, as the candidate of the Democratic Party. CHAPTER 20 IN JACKSON'S CHAIR Darkness fell early in late November and Lincoln nodded gratefully to Wil- liam for lighting the gas lamp on his desk. Hill Lamon was running a political errand; Nicolay and Hay had gone to eat at Willard's. William asked if he would be taking dinner at his desk and he nodded; Mrs. Lincoln was in New York on one of her shopping trips. Angry at him for refusing to appoint one of her most unworthy favorites to an undeserved position, for three days before she left for Boston and New York she had refused to sleep in the room next to his. These petulant moods of hers came and went. Stoddard, the third secretary, came in with a couple of pins to put in the map on the table. The pins with blue sealing wax on their heads signified Union battalions. After both William and Stod left, Lincoln rose from his desk chair, studied the map, and was pleased to see that Burnside was moving south toward Fredericksburg where the Union troops could fall upon Lee's