Sherman, Sheridan, and Thomas there appears to have been a perfect understanding and complete unity of opinion and purpose between them. He allowed them greater liberty than other commanders had enjoyed, evidently because they had his confidence to a higher degree; he never was compelled to repeat the entreaties, admonitions, and rebukes with which the pages of his correspondence during the earlier part of the war were filled. His relations with Sherman cannot better be defined than by the following brief letter:

"MY DEAR GENERAL SHERMAN: Many, many thanks for your Christmas gift, the capture of Savannah. When you were about leaving Atlanta for the Atlantic coast I was anxious, if not fearful; but feeling that you were the better judge, and remembering that nothing risked, nothing gained,' I did not interfere. Now, the undertaking being a success, the honor is all yours, for I believe none of us went farther than to acquiesce. And taking the work of General Thomas into the count, as it should be taken, it is, indeed, a great success. Not only does it afford the obvious and immediate military advantages, but in showing to the world that your army could be divided, putting the stronger part to an important new service, and yet leaving enough to vanquish the old opposing force of the whole-Hood's army-it brings those who sat in darkness to see a great light. But what next? I suppose it will be safe if I leave General Grant and yourself to decide. Please make my grateful acknowledgments to your whole army, officers and men."

Lincoln's relations with Sheridan were limited. They never met but twice, and there was very little correspondence between them, the most notable being the laconic despatch after Sheridan's fight with Ewell at Sailor's Creek, near the Appomattox. That was one of

the last blows struck at the Confederacy, and Sheridan, realizing the situation, made a hasty report, ending with the words,

"If the thing is pressed I think Lee will surrender." Grant forwarded the despatch to President Lincoln, who instantly replied,

"Let the thing be pressed."

When he had read the telegram describing Sheridan's last fight with Early in the Shenandoah Valley, he remarked that he once knew a man who loaded a piece of punk with powder, lighted it, clapped it inside a biscuit, and tossed it to a savage dog that was snarling at him. In an instant the dog snapped it up and swallowed it. Presently the fire touched the powder and away went the dog, his head in one place, a leg here and another there, and the different parts scattered all over the country. 66 And," said the man, as for the dog, as a dog, I was never able to find him." "And that," remarked the President, "is very much the condition of Early's army, as an army."

66

President Lincoln's appearance in Richmond after the Confederacy fell to pieces was one of the most dramatic scenes in all history because of its extreme simplicity and the entire absence of rejoicing or parade. There was no triumphant entrance, as the world might have expected when a conqueror occupies the capital of the conquered. Never before or since has an event of such transcendent significance occurred with so little ostentation or ceremony. Lincoln was at City Point, the head-quarters of General Grant, and was lodged upon a little steamer called the "River Queen" when he heard of the capture of Richmond and the fire that consumed a large part of that city. The same day he went up the river without escort of any kind, landed at a wharf near Libby Prison, found a guide among the colored people that were hanging around the place, and walked a mile or more to the centre of the city. The loafers at the

wharf soon identified the President and surrounded him, striving to touch the hem of his garment. To protect the President and open a passage for him, Admiral Porter called sailors from his boat, who marched in front and behind him to the town. Lincoln did not realize the danger that surrounded him; he did not remember that he was in the midst of a community with whom he was still at war, or that they held him responsible for the sorrows they had suffered, the distress they had endured, and the destruction of their property. But, although within an hour from the time he landed every man, woman, and child knew of his presence, not a hand was lifted against him, not an unkina word was said; and, after visiting the head-quarters of General Weitzel, who was in command of the Union troops, the Capitol of the State which had been the seat of the Confederate government, the mansion which Jefferson Davis had occupied, Libby Prison, where so many officers had starved and died, and holding two important interviews with John A. Campbell, the Confederate Secretary of War, who had remained in Richmond when the rest of the government fled, he went leisurely back to his boat, returned to the steamer, and sailed for Washington, where, only a few days later, surrounded by his loyal friends and in the midst of an ovation, he was stricken by the bullet of an assassin.

Lincoln's personal courage was demonstrated early in life. He never showed a sense of fear. He never refused a challenge for a trial of strength, nor avoided an adventure that was attended by danger; and while President he had no fear of assassination, although he had many warnings and was quite superstitious. He was accustomed to ridicule the anxiety of his friends, and when the threats of his enemies were repeated to him he changed the subject of conversation. Senator Sumner was one of those who believed that he was in continual danger of assassination, and frequently