Mr. Lincoln stood up in the carriage, and made one of the neatest, best, and most feeling addresses I ever listened to, referring to our late disaster at Bull Run, the high duties that still devolved on us, and the brighter days yet to come.  At one or two points the soldiers began to cheer, but he promptly checked them, saying:  “Don’t cheer, boys.  I confess I rather like it myself, but Colonel Sherman here says it is not military; and I guess we had better defer to his opinion.”  In winding up, he explained that, as President, he was commander-in-chief; that he was resolved that the soldiers should have every thing that the law allowed; and he called on one and all to appeal to him personally in case they were wronged.  The effect of this speech was excellent.

We passed along in the same manner to all the camps of my brigade; and Mr. Lincoln complimented me highly for the order, cleanliness, and discipline, that he observed.  Indeed, he and Mr. Seward both assured me that it was the first bright moment they had experienced since the battle.

At last we reached Fort Corcoran.  The carriage could not enter, so I ordered the regiment, without arms, to come outside, and gather about Mr. Lincoln, who would speak to them.  He made to them the same feeling address, with more personal allusions, because of their special gallantry in the battle under Corcoran, who was still a prisoner in the hands of the enemy; and he concluded with the same general offer of redress in case of grievances.  In the crowd I saw the officer with whom I had had the passage at reveille that morning.  His face was pale, and lips compressed.  I foresaw a scene, but sat on the front seat of the carriage as quiet as a lamb.  This officer forced his way through the crowd to the carriage, and said:  “Mr. President, I have a cause of grievance.  This morning I went to speak to Colonel Sherman, and he threatened to shoot me.”  Mr. Lincoln, who was still standing, said, “Threatened to shoot you?” “Yes, sir, he threatened to shoot me.”  Mr. Lincoln looked at him, then at me, and stooping his tall, spare form toward the officer, said to him in a loud stage-whisper, easily heard for some yards around:  “Well, if I were you, and he threatened to shoot, I would not trust him, for I believe he would do it.”  The officer turned about and disappeared, and the men laughed at him.  Soon the carriage drove on, and, as we descended the hill, I explained the facts to the President, who answered, “Of course I didn’t know any thing about it, but I thought you knew your own business best.”  I thanked him for his confidence, and assured him that what he had done would go far to enable me to maintain good discipline, and it did.

By this time the day was well spent.  I asked to take my leave, and the President and Mr. Seward drove back to Washington.  This spirit of mutiny was common to the whole army, and was not subdued till several regiments or parts of regiments had been ordered to Fort Jefferson, Florida, as punishment.