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