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without surprise and pain that the man who captured Donelson, Vicksburg, and Richmond is not a great soldier.
“Sheridan,” says the President, returning to his lieutenant, “ is a man of drill and order, who understands the South.
But the public have mistaken Sheridan, and they will not see his actions in the proper light.”
Without saying so in words, he seems to mean that Sheridan is suffering from the general but unjust suspicion under which his Government lies.
If so, the President is right.
The odium is undoubtedly great; yet Grant is suffering as much for Sheridan as Sheridan is suffering for Grant.
The Black Question, like the Red Question, is broader than the policy of a day, and longer than the lives of Sheridan and Grant.
Can coloured people live in freedom?
Can a Negro bear the rough friction, the close contact, and the hot competition of an Anglo-Saxon?
Higher races than the African are dying in this fierce contention.
Where is the Pict, the Cymri, and the Gael?
Where, on American soil, are the Six Nations, the Horse Indians, the Mexicans?
What facts in natural history suggest that Negroes are exceptions to a
1875.
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