t and set in motion
the machinery to remove him from office--the grim old leader still
swearing that he would hang him.

In this auspicious moment Charles O'Connor marshaled his forces and
demanded the release of Davis on bail. Andrew Johnson had seen a new
light. He was now in a life and death struggle with the newly enthroned
mob to save the Republic from a Dictatorship. The conspirators had
already selected the man they proposed to set up on his removal from
office.

The President issued an order to General Burton at Fortress Monroe to
produce his prisoner in the United States District Court of Richmond.

On May fourth, 1867, the little steamer from the fort touched the wharf
at Richmond and Jefferson Davis and his wife once more appeared in the
Capital of the Confederacy.

The South had come to greet them.

All differences of opinion were stilled before the white face of the man
who had been put in irons for their sins. They came from the four
corners of the country for which he had tolled and suffered.

Senator Barton, his wife and daughter and all his surviving sons had
come from Fairview to do him honor. A vast crowd assembled at the wharf.
No king ever entered his palace with grander welcome. The road from the
wharf to the Spotswood Hotel was a living sea of humanity. His carriage
couldn't move until the way was forced open by the mounted police. The
windows and roofs of every house were crowded. Men and women everywhere
were in tears. As the carriage turned into Main Street a man shouted:

"Hats off, Virginians!"

Every head was bared in the vast throng which stretched a mile along the
thoroughfare. As he passed in triumph, the people for whom he had worked
and suffered crowded to his carriage, stretched out their hands in
silence and touched his garments while the tears rolled down their
cheeks.

They arraigned him for trial on a charge of high treason.

The indictment had also named Robert E. Lee as guilty of the same crime.
Grant lifted his mailed fist and told the Government he would fight if
necessary to protect the man who had surrendered in good faith to his
army. The peanut politicians dropped Lee's name.

When the tall, emaciated leader of the South stood erect before his
accusers in court he faced a scene which proclaimed the advent of the
new Democracy in America which must yet make good its right to live.

On the Judge's bench sat John C. Underwood, a crawling, shambling,
shuffling, i