The same scenes were transpiring at the South, where patient wives, mothers, sisters and daughters were waiting and watching for those who had been so strangely preserved to them, and happy voices and beaming smiles made their home-coming glad. The two armies--the Army of the Potomac and Sherman's Army--were sent to Washington late in May for review, before being mustered out of service. The scene was inspiring. The {238} streets were packed with a surging mass of people, proud to shout and cheer for the brown-faced men who fought for the upholding of their beloved government. [Illustration: 0247] {239} [Illustration: 0248] Banners, garlands of flowers, tumultuous cheering, marked the marching divisions of the Army of the Potomac, as they wheeled into line, and arriving at {240}the grand stand at the White House, where President Johnson and his cabinet reviewed them, the officers gave a royal salute with their swords, while the commanders of the divisions sprang from their horses, and went upon the stand as their commands filed by. The following day, May 24, Sherman's noble army of bronzed and weather-beaten men were reviewed in the same manner, and as the marching columns kept step to the music of their bands, the enthusiasm was intense, and broke into cheer after cheer, while the houses, sidewalks, and every spot where human beings could find a foothold, was one mass of waving flags, handkerchiefs and streamers. As Ralph, in far-away Montgomery, where the regiment was to remain but a day or so, read the account of the monster ovation, his bosom swelled with pride, and life seemed to, take on a rosier color. Every cheer that was uttered, every look of welcome to those who passed through the streets of Washington that day, he considered a tribute to every soldier in the land; for had they not all done their duty and stood by their colors? He claimed a share in that rejoicing, even though could not be there, and he vaguely wondered if those who had died to save this glorious Union did not also rejoice at the dawn of peace, and the new birth of a nation, whose proudest boast should ever be that “All men are born free and equal.” His soul went out in peace and love to all--to those who had fallen in battle or died of wounds on either side; to the dear comrades whom he remembered long; to that grana martyr--the type of freedom, justice and love for all--Abraham Lincoln! “Dreaming, are you?” a cheery voice broke in upon his musings. “Yes, Steve, I am dreaming--dreaming of the time when I can go to my mother, and tell her how grateful I am that I have been saved through all the sad scenes the past four years have shown me.” {241} [Illustration: 0250]