"And now beware of rashness--but with energy and sleepless vigilance go forward and give us victories." While Hooker lay in winter quarters reorganizing his army his picket lines in speaking distance with those of his opponent across the river, the President bent his strong shoulders to the task of cheering the fainting spirits of the people. On his shaggy head was heaped the blame of all the sorrows, the failures and the agony of the ever deepening tragedy of war. Deeper and deeper into his rugged kindly face were cut the lines of life and death, and darker grew the shadows through which his sensitive lonely soul was called to walk. And yet, through it all, there glowed with stronger radiance the charm of his quaint genius and his magnetic personality--tragic, homely, gentle, humorous, honest, merciful, wise, laughable and lovable. He found time to run down to Hampton Roads with Gideon Welles, his loyal Secretary of the Navy, to inspect the ships assembled there. He saw a narrow door bound with iron. "What is that?" he asked sharply. "Oh, that is the sweat box," the Secretary replied, "used for insubordinate seamen----" "Oh," the rugged giant exclaimed, "how do you work it?" "The man to be punished is put inside and steam heat is turned on. It brings him to terms quickly." The tall figure bent curiously examining the contrivance: "And we apply this to thousands of brave American seamen every year?" "Undoubtedly." "Let me try it and see what it's like." It was useless to protest. He had already taken off his tall silk hat and there was a look of quiet determination in his hazel-grey eyes. He stepped quickly into the enclosure, which he found to be about three feet in length and about the same in width. His tall figure of six feet four was practically telescoped. "Close your door now and turn on the steam," he ordered. "I'll give you the signal when I've had enough." The door was closed and the steam turned on. He stood it three minutes and gave the signal of release. He stepped out, stretched his long legs, and breathed deeply. He mopped his brow and there was fire in his sombre eyes as he turned to Welles: "Mr. Secretary, I want every one of those things dumped into the sea. Never again allow it to be found on a vessel flying the American flag!" In an hour every sailor in the harbor had heard the news. The old salts who had felt its shame and agony lifted their caps and stood with bared heads, cheering and crying as he passed. One by one, every country of Europe heard the news and the sweat box ceased to be an instrument of discipline on every sea of the civilized world.