He swore both plain and ornamental oaths with
equal unction.
The President endured it a while in amused silence. He was deeply
annoyed, but too much of a gentleman to hurt his patriotic driver's
feelings.
At last he observed:
"I see you are an Episcopalian, driver."
The man turned in surprise:
"Oh, no, sir, I'm Methodist."
"Is it possible?"
"Yes, sir, Methodist--why, sir?"
A whimsical smile played about the big kindly mouth:
"I thought you must be an Episcopalian because you swear exactly like
Mr. Seward, and he's a churchwarden!"
A deep silence fell on the sweet spring air. The driver glanced over his
shoulder with a sheepish grin, and cracked his whip without an oath:
"G'long there, boys!"
As the serried lines of blue, with bayonets flashing in the warming sun
of April, marched past the tall giant on horseback, they were in fine
spirits. They cheered the President with rousing enthusiasm.
John Vaughan did not join. He marched past with eyes straight in front.
The President hurried back to Washington to keep his vigil from his
window overlooking the Potomac, and Hooker began the execution of his
skillful plan of attack. On the day his advance began he had one hundred
and thirty thousand men and four hundred and forty-eight great guns in
seven grand divisions.
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