It was not hard fighting. The Valley campaign, from Kernstown to Port Republic, had not cost the Federals more than 7000 men; and, with the exception of Cross Keys, the battles had been well contested. It was not the difficulties of supply or movement. It was not absence of information; for until Jackson vanished from the sight of both friend and foe on June 17, spies and “contrabands"* (i.e. Fugitive slaves) had done good work. (* The blacks, however, appear to have been as unreliable as regards numbers as McClellan’s detectives. “If a negro were asked how many Confederates he had seen at a certain point, his answer was very likely to be: “I dunno, Massa, but I guess about a million."”—McClellan’s Own Story page 254.) Nor was it want of will on the part of the Northern Government. None were more anxious than Lincoln and Stanton to capture Richmond, to disperse the rebels, and to restore the Union. They had made stupendous efforts to organise a sufficient army. To equip that army as no army had ever been equipped before they had spared neither expense nor labour; and it can hardly be denied that they had created a vast machine, perhaps in part imperfect, but, considering the weakness of the enemy, not ill-adapted for the work before it.
There was but one thing they had overlooked, and that was that their host would require intelligent control. So complete was the mechanism, so simple a matter it appeared to set the machine in motion, and to keep it in the right course, that they believed that their untutored hands, guided by common-sense and sound abilities, were perfectly capable of guiding it, without mishap, to the appointed goal. Men who, aware of their ignorance, would probably have shrunk from assuming charge of a squad of infantry in action, had no hesitation whatever in attempting to direct a mighty army, a task which Napoleon has assured us requires profound study, incessant application, and wide experience.* (* “In consequence of the excessive growth of armies tactics have lost in weight, and the strategical design, rather than the detail of the movements, has become the decisive factor in the issue at a campaign. The strategical design depends, as a rule, upon the decision of cabinets, and upon the resources placed at the disposal of the commander. Consequently, either the leading statesmen should have correct views of the science of war, or should make up for their ignorance by giving their entire confidence to the man to whom the supreme command of the army is entrusted. Otherwise, the germs of defeat and national ruin may be contained in the first preparations for war.”—The Archduke Charles of Austria.)
They were in fact ignorant—and how many statesmen, and even soldiers, are in like case?—that strategy, the art of manoeuvring armies, is an art in itself, an art which none may master by the light of nature, but to which, if he is to attain success, a man must serve a long apprenticeship.