What Lincoln was up
against lasted far beyond the firing of the final shot of that sad, silly war
as evidenced by the following:
'I rode with Robert E
Lee / For three years thereabout. 
Got wounded in three
places / And I starved at Point Lookout. 
I caught the
rheumatism / A'campin in the snow. 
But I killed a
hundred Yankees / And I'd like to kill some more. 
Three hundred
thousand Yankees / Is stiff in Southern dust, 
We got three hundred
thousand / Before they conquered us. 
They died of Southern
fever, / Of Southern steel and shot. 
But I wish it was
three million / Instead of what we got.'
- 'I'm a good Old Rebel,' Post Civil
War ballad