Early in 1865 Sherman swung northward from Savannah, forced the surrender of Charleston, South Carolina, and joined Union forces advancing from the North at Goldsboro', North Carolina, March 23. Six days later Grant began the final campaign against the Confederacy. Six days before, Lincoln had said to the boy: "Tom, would you like to see some more fighting?" "Yes, Mr. President; very much." "Well, you needn't tell anybody, but I guess there'll be some to see before long near Richmond. I've had you ordered from special service at the White House to special service with the Lieutenant-General. Here's the order and here's a letter to General Grant. I wouldn't wonder if he put you on his staff." "How can I thank you, Mr. Lincoln?" "The best way to thank anybody is to do well the work he gives you to do. Good-by, my son, and good luck." [Illustration: GEN. W. T. SHERMAN St. Gaudens' Statue, New York] With a pressure of Lincoln's huge hand Tom was sped on his rejoicing way. Two days later he was at Grant's headquarters, at City Point, Virginia, near Fortress Monroe. He saluted and handed the General Lincoln's letter. The soldier sat, a silent sphinx, for a moment. Then he looked up at Tom with a quizzical but not unkindly smile, and said: "Have you learned anything since you brought me dispatches at Fort Donelson and Vicksburg?" "I hope so, General." "Sometimes the President sends me people for political reasons. I suppose he has to. But I don't take them if I know it. Have you any political influence behind you?" "Not a bit, sir." Tom laughed at the thought. "You laugh well. You and Horace Porter ought to get on together. He laughs well, too. You can serve on my staff. "I thank you, General." Tom saluted and walked away, to find Horace Porter, whom he found to be a very nice fellow indeed. One of the first things the nice fellow did for him was to get him a good horse. There was no lack of horses at headquarters. The difficulty was not to find one, but to choose the best of many good ones. Tom, who had a good eye for a horse, found one that exactly suited him except as to color. He was of a mottled gray. The boy did not much care for such a color, but he knew it had its advantages. It does not advertise its presence. Where a black, a white or a bay horse would stand out and make a mark for hostile sharpshooters, a mottled gray might well elude their view. And the horse, apart from this, was just what he wanted. He paced fast, he galloped fast, and he walked fast, which is a rare and precious accomplishment in a horse. The average horse walks, as a rule, slower than the average man. In an hour, he covers a quarter-of-a-mile less ground. One question remained to be settled. "Can he jump?" asked Tom. "Jump, is it?" answered the soldier-groom. "Shure, the cow that jumped over the moon couldn't lift a leg to him."