them to hasten
forward militia because "the enemy in great force are marching on
Washington."(29)

The moment Jackson had accomplished his purpose, having drawn a great
army northwestward away from McClellan, most of which should have been
marching southeastward to join McClellan, he slipped away, rushed his
own army across the whole width of Virginia, and joined Lee in the
terrible fighting of the Seven Days before Richmond.

In the midst of this furious confusion, the men surrounding Lincoln may
be excused for not observing a change in him. They have recorded his
appearance of indecision, his solicitude over McClellan, his worn and
haggard look. The changing light in those smoldering fires of his
deeply sunken eyes escaped their notice. Gradually, through profound
unhappiness, and as always in silence, Lincoln was working out of
his last eclipse. No certain record of his inner life during this
transition, the most important of his life, has survived. We can judge
of it only by the results. The outstanding fact with regard to it is a
certain change of attitude, an access of determination, late in June.
What desperate wrestling with the angel had taken place in the months of
agony since his son's death, even his private secretaries have not felt
able to say. Neither, apparently, did they perceive, until it flashed
upon them full-blown, the change that was coming over his resolution.
Nor did the Cabinet have any warning that the President was turning
a corner, developing a new phase of himself, something sterner, more
powerful than anything they had suspected. This was ever his way. His
instinctive reticence stood firm until the moment of the new birth. Not
only the Cabinet but the country was amazed and startled, when, late in
June, the President suddenly left Washington. He made a flying trip to
West Point where Scott was living in virtual retirement.(30) What passed
between the two, those few hours they spent together, that twenty-fourth
of June, 1862, has never been divulged. Did they have any eyes, that
day, for the wonderful prospect from the high terrace of the parade
ground; for the river so far below, flooring the valley with silver;
for the mountains pearl and blue? Did they talk of Stanton, of his
waywardness, his furies? Of the terrible Committee? Of the way Lincoln
had tied his own hands, brought his will to stalemate, through his
recognition of the unofficial councils? Who knows?

Lincoln was back in Wa