His two Commanding Generals had allowed the victorious army of Manassas to drift into a rabble while they wrangled for position, precedence and power. The swift and terrible blows which the navy had dealt the South, delivered so silently and yet with such deadly effect that the people had not yet realized their import, had convinced the President that the war would be one of the bloodiest in history. The fall of Fort Henry and Fort Donelson with the evacuation of Nashville had been a sword thrust into the heart of the lower South. The extent of these disasters had not been realized by the public. The South was yet a sleeping lioness. She could be roused and her powers wielded with certainty by one man. But his hand must be firm. There was one man in the Cabinet of the Confederacy who clearly saw this from the first dawn of the new year--Judah P. Benjamin, the astute Secretary of War. His keen logical mind had brushed aside the fog of sentiment and saw _one_ thing--the need of success and the way in which to attain it. The morning of February twenty-second was Washington's birthday, and for that reason fixed by the South as the day of the inauguration of their President. Nothing could have shown more clearly the tenacity with which the Southern people were clinging to their old forms. The day slowly dawned through lowering storm clouds. The President went early to his office for a consultation with the members of his new Cabinet. Judah P. Benjamin, his chosen chief counselor as Secretary of State, was unusually reticent. The details of the inauguration were quickly agreed on and Davis hastened to return to his room at the White House to complete his preparations for the ceremony. Benjamin followed his Chief thirty minutes later with the most important communication he had ever decided to make. As the most trusted adviser of the President he had long had the freedom of the house. The resolute Hebrew features of the Secretary were set with resolution. He pushed his way to the door of Mr. Davis' room, rapped for admission and without waiting for an answer softly and swiftly entered. His mission was too important to admit of delay. He paused at the threshold in surprise. Jefferson Davis was on his knees in prayer so deep and earnest he had not heard. He waited with head bowed in silent sympathy for five minutes and looked with increasing amazement at the white face of the man who prayed. This agony of soul before the God of his fathers was a revelation to the Minister of State. His lips were moving now in audible words. "Thou alone art my refuge, O Lord! Without Thee I shall fail. Have pity on Thy servant--with Thy wisdom guide!" The time was swiftly passing. The Minister could not wait. "I beg your pardon, Mr. President," he began in low tones, "but I have most important communications to make to you--"