SHERMAN'S OWN WORDS.
SPEECH AT A CLOVER CLUB DINNER--A FAMOUS NEW ENGLAND SOCIETY
DINNER--TEACHING GEOGRAPHY IN GEORGIA--SPEAKING FOR THE
UNITED STATES--OLD TIMES IN OHIO--AT A GRAND ARMY NATIONAL
ENCAMPMENT--WHY HE DID NOT MARCH TO AUGUSTA--ONE OF HIS LAST
LETTERS--A STORY OF GRANT--CONGRATULATIONS TO PRESIDENT
HARRISON.
General Sherman displayed his marked ability as a letter-writer early
in life, as a lad at West Point. To the end of his days he wielded
the same vigorous and trenchant pen. Nor was he less effective as a
speaker. The graces of oratory, as taught in schools, he did not aspire
to display. His eloquence was of a more impressive type than that; it
was the eloquence of a man of action. Ideas were plenty in his fertile
brain, and, as an omnivorous reader he had acquired a vast vocabulary.
When he arose to speak, therefore, he had but one thing to do: to
express his thoughts in words with the same directness and vigor with
which he would, on occasion, have wrought them out in deeds. He was a
spirited and dramatic story-teller, and his fund of anecdotes seemed
inexhaustible. "Stage-fright" was of course unknown to him, though the
circumstances of his speaking affected him much.
Some years before his death, it is related, he was a guest at a
Clover Club dinner, in Philadelphia. This Clover Club was composed
of newspaper men, authors, artists, etc., and its ruling idea was
non-formality. No guest was too eminent to be exempt from practical
jokes and guying. So when General Sherman rose to speak, having been
called upon, he was greeted by a storm of applause. This applause
was renewed whenever he attempted to open his mouth, until at last,
surprised, indignant and hurt, he shut his teeth together like a
sprung rat-trap and sat down. A moment later the Club struck up the
tune "Marching Through Georgia," and they all joined in the song with
a will. As the ringing words of that song filled the hall and the
compliment contained in them went into the heart of the old warrior,
he saw that the joking was all good-natured. He grew mellow again, and
as he looked about the board and saw good-fellowship, good-nature and
admiration in every countenance, the tears came to his eyes and he rose
and made one of the best speeches that has ever been delivered before
them. He made his speech without interruption, and the applause which
followed it at the end was genuine enough and not facetious.
One of Sherman's most notable and most characteristic speeches was made
at the dinner of the New England Society, in New York, on December 22d,
1886. It was as follows:--
MR. PRESIDENT AND GENTLEMEN OF THE NEW ENGLAND SOCIETY OF NEW
YORK.--Were I to do the proper thing, I would turn to my friend on the
left and say amen, for he has drawn a glorious picture of the War, in
language stronger than even I or my friend Schofield could dare to use.
But looking over the Society to-night, so many young faces here, so
many old and loved ones gone--I feel almost as one of your forefathers.
[Laughter and applause.] Many and many a time have I been welcomed
among you. I came from a bloody civil war to New York in years gone
by--twenty or twenty-one, may be--and a committee came to me in my
room and dragged me unwillingly before the then New England Society
of New York, and they received me with such hearty applause and such
kindly greetings that my heart goes out to you now to-night as their
representatives. [Applause.] God knows, I wish you, one and all, all
the blessings of life, and enjoyment of the good things you now possess
and others yet in store for you, young men.
"I hope not to occupy more than a few minutes of your time, for last
night I celebrated the same event in Brooklyn, and at about two or
three o'clock this morning I saw this hall filled with lovely ladies
waltzing [laughter,] and here I am to-night. [Renewed laughter. A
voice--You're a rounder, General.] But I shall ever, ever recur to the
early meetings of the New England Society, in which I shared with a
pride and satisfaction which words will not express, and I hope the few
words I now say will be received in the kindly spirit they are made
in, be they what they may, for the call upon me is sudden and somewhat
unexpected.
"I have no toast. I am a loafer. [Laughter.] I can choose to say what
I may--not tied by any text or formula. I know when you look upon old
General Sherman, as you seem to call him [Oh, oh!]--pretty young yet,
my friends--not all the devil out of me yet, and I hope still to share
with you many a festive occasion--whenever you may assemble, wherever
the sons of New England may assemble, be it here under this Delmonico
roof or in Brooklyn, or even in Boston, I will try to be there.
[Applause.]
"My friends, I have had many, many experiences, and it always seems
to me easier to recur to some of them when I am on my feet, for they
come back to me like the memory of a dream, pleasant to think of.
And now to-night, I know the Civil War is uppermost in your minds,
although I would banish it as a thing of trade, something too common
to my calling: yet I know it pleases the audience to refer to little
incidents here and there of the great Civil War, in which I took an
humble part. [Applause.] But I remember, one day away down in Georgia,
somewhere between, I think, Milledgeville and Milan, I was riding on a
good horse and had some friends along with me to keep good fellowship,
you know. [Laughter.] A pretty humorous party, clever good fellows.
[Renewed laughter.] Riding along, I spied a plantation. I was thirsty,
rode up to the gate and dismounted. One of these men with sabres by
their side, called orderlies, stood by my horse. I walked up on the
porch, where there was an old gentleman, probably sixty years of age,
white-haired and very gentle in his manners--evidently a planter of
the higher class. I asked him if he would be kind enough to give me
some water. He called a boy, and soon he had a bucket of water with a
dipper. I then asked for a chair, and called one or two of my officers.
Among them was, I think, Dr. John Moore, who recently has been made
Surgeon-General of the Army, for which I am very grateful--even to Mr.
Cleveland. [Laughter and applause.] He sat on the porch, and the old
man held the bucket up to me, and I took a long drink of water and may
have lighted a cigar [laughter], and it is possible I may have had a
little flask of whiskey along. [Renewed laughter.]
"At all events, I got into a conversation; and the troops drifted
along, passing down the roadway closely by fours, and every regiment
had its banner, regimental or national, sometimes furled and sometimes
afloat. The old gentleman says: 'General, what troops are these passing
now?'
As the color-bearer came by, I said: "Throw out your colors. That is
the 73d Iowa."
"The 73d Iowa! 73d Iowa! Iowa! 73d! What do you mean by 73d?"
"Well," said I, "habitually a regiment when organized, amounts to 1,000
men."
"Do you pretend to say Iowa has sent 73,000 men into this cruel Civil
War?" [Laughter.]
"Why, my friend, I think that may be inferred."
"Well," says he, "Where's Iowa?" [Laughter.]
"Iowa is a State bounded on the east by the Mississippi, on the South
by Missouri, on the west by unknown country, and on the north by the
North Pole."
"Well," says he, "73,000 men from Iowa? You must have a million men."
Says I: "I think about that."
Presently another regiment came along.
"What may that be?"
I called to the color-bearer: "Throw out your colors and let us see,"
and it was the 17th or 19th--I have forgotten which--Wisconsin.
"Wisconsin! Northwest Territory! Wisconsin! Is it spelled with an O or
a W?"
"Why, we spell it now with a W. It used to be spelled 'Ouis.'"
"The 17th! that makes 17,000 men?"
"Yes, I think there are a good many more than that. Wisconsin has sent
about 30,000 men into the war."
Then again came along another regiment from Minnesota.
"Minnesota! My God! where is Minnesota? [Laughter] Minnesota!"
"Minnesota is away up on the sources of the Mississippi River, a
beautiful territory, too, by the way--a beautiful State."
"A State?"
"Yes, has Senators in Congress, good ones, too. They're very fine
men--very fine troops."
"How many men has she sent to this cruel war?"
"Well, I don't exactly know; somewhere between 10,000 and 20,000 men,
probably. Don't make any difference--all we want." [Laughter.]
"Well," says he, "now we must have been a set of fools to throw down
the gage of battle to a country we didn't know the geography of!
[Laughter and applause.] When I went to school that was the Northwest
Territory, and the Northwest Territory--well," says he, "we looked upon
that as away off, and didn't know anything about it. Fact is, we didn't
know anything at all about it."
Said I: "My friend, think of it a moment. Down here in Georgia, one
of the original thirteen States which formed this great Union of
this country, you have stood fast. You have stood fast while the
great Northwest has been growing with a giant's growth. Iowa to-day,
my friend, contains more railroads, more turnpikes, more acres of
cultivated land, more people, more intelligence, more schools,
more colleges--more of everything which constitutes a refined and
enlightened State--than the whole State of Georgia."
"My God!" says the man, "it's awful. I didn't dream of that."
"Well," says I, "look here, my friend, I was once a banker, and I have
some knowledge of notes and indorsements, and so forth. Did you ever
have anything to do with indorsements?"
Says he: "Yes, I have had my share. I have a factor down in Savannah,
and I give my note and he indorses it and I get the money somehow or
other. I have to pay it in the end, on the crop."
"Well," says I, "now look here. In 1861, the Southern States had
4,000,000 slaves as property, for which the States of Pennsylvania,
New York, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, and so forth were indorsers. We
were on the bond. Your slaves were protected by the same law which
protects land and other property. Now, you got mad at them because they
didn't think exactly as you did about religion and about that thing and
t'other thing; and like a set of fools you first took your bond and
drew your name through the indorsers'. Do you know what the effect will
be? You will never get paid for those niggers at all. [Laughter.] They
are gone. They're free men now.
"Well," says he, "we were the greatest set of fools that ever were in
the world." [Laughter.]
"And so I saw one reconstructed man in the good State of Georgia before
I left it. [Laughter and applause.]
"Yes, my friends, in those days things looked gloomy to us, but the
decree came from a higher power. No pen, no statesman, in fact, no
divine could have solved the riddle which bound us at that time;
nothing but the great God of War. And you and your fathers, your
ancestors, if you please, of whom I profess to be one [applause], had
to resort to the great Arbiter of Battles, and call upon Jove himself.
And now all men in America, north and south and east and west, stand
free before the tribunal of the Almighty, each man to work out his own
destiny according to his ability, and according to his virtue, and
according to his manhood. [Applause.] I assure you that we who took
part in that war were kindly men. We did not wish to kill. We did not
wish to strike a blow. I know that I grieved as much as any man when I
saw pain and sorrow and affliction among the innocent and distressed,
and when I saw burning and desolation. But it was an incident of war,
and was forced upon us--forced upon us by men influenced by a bad
ambition, not by the men who owned those slaves, but by politicians
who used that as a pretext, and forced you and your fathers and me and
others who sit near me, to take up arms and settle the controversy once
and forever. [Cries of "good," and loud applause.]
"Now, my friends of New England, we all know what your ancestors are
recorded to have been; mine were of a kindred stock. Both my parents
were from Norfolk, Conn. I think and feel like you. I, too, was taught
the alphabet with blows, and all the knowledge I possessed before I
went to West Point was spanked into me by the ferule of those old
schoolmasters. [Laughter.] I learned my lesson well, and I hope that
you, sons of New England, will ever stand by your country and its flag,
glory in the achievements of your ancestors, and forever--and to a
day beyond forever, if necessary--giving you time to make the journey
to your last resting-place--honor your blood, honor your forefathers,
honor yourselves, and treasure the memories of those who have gone
before you." [Enthusiastic applause.]
At the New York Chamber of Commerce dinner, on November 20, 1888,
General Sherman responded to the toast. "The United States--with an
educated community and patriotic people her success will continue to be
commensurate with her opportunities and her power coextensive with her
vast domain." He said:
"MR. PRESIDENT AND GENTLEMEN--When I first received your invitation I
felt almost overwhelmed at the idea of being brought into the presence
of the old merchants of New York, who guide the destinies of your
city. Every man who loves his country, or who professes to do so,
honors the merchant, the far-seeing man of affairs, who takes the whole
universe into his calculations, and brings here the things we need and
sends forth the things that we can spare and sell, and every man who
honors the merchant must think with pride of New York, which exercises
an influence over civilization, I am inclined to think, second only to
London and greater than either Paris, Vienna or Berlin. [Applause.] And
I believe, gentlemen, your influence will continue to grow--provided
always that you deserve it. [Applause.]"
"When I got the toast, I was somewhat startled. I didn't know whether
to take it in its grand sense or in its minor sense, like the motto
in the copy-book that we used to pass around in our school-rooms; "Be
virtuous and you will be happy." [Laughter.] That is a self-evident
proposition, and so is the toast. Nevertheless, I turned to "Cosmos"
and thought of Humboldt, and then to Burghaus, and then to my old
friend William Gilpin. I don't know whether you know my old friend
William Gilpin, but not to know him is to be yourself unknown.
[Laughter.] He lectured in London, and he proved to the satisfaction
of his small audience that wherever he was was the centre of creation.
[Laughter.] I remember him when he lived in St. Louis--and of course
that was the centre of the world [laughter], and when he moved up
to Independence the world went with him. Finally, President Lincoln
made him Governor of Colorado, and the centre of the world was easily
transferred to Colorado. [Laughter.] So it was to the Garden of the
Gods, when he subsequently went there.
"Well, he was a graduate of West Point and traveled once with me across
this continent to San Francisco. Gentlemen, did it ever strike you
that when you get to San Francisco you are only half-way across the
United States? The Aleutian Islands, which we got with Alaska, extend
further toward Asia than the continent of North America does to the
east of San Francisco; and that was the fact that startled Gilpin.
Every foot of that land, too, we have honestly come by.
"As to Canada, we want no part of that, any more than we do of Mexico.
We have enough poor land already. [Laughter.] Our present domain
comprises about 3,700,000 square miles, and that is bigger than the
civilized domain of any country except Russia. In Belgium and parts of
France the population is forty times denser than ours at present; so
we see what room we have to grow. I can remember when we used to cross
the San Joaquin valley, twenty or thirty years ago, and thought it was
a poor, miserable place, because our cattle suffered so in the passage,
but now the land is worth there $100 an acre, while I wouldn't have
given two cents for 1,000 acres then. [Laughter.]
"But the country is growing in other ways. Up here at Harvard, we
have college youths spending $10,000 a year--more than the pay of a
Lieutenant-General, by the way [laughter]--and if De Witt Clinton,
who is entitled to the credit of building the Erie Canal, the first
great artery of internal commerce, were to rise and look around him
to-day, he would see many things to surprise him. Among others, he
would be startled at the spectacle presented four years ago in these
United States, of the election of a man to the Chief Magistracy and
the appointment of others in his cabinet, representing the opposition
that confronted us twenty years ago in the Civil War, when we fought
to save the country. The people submitted to that without one single
whimper. [Applause.] But they have again chosen a man of our own
style and stamp, and I, for one, say openly that I am glad of it.
[Renewed applause.] I am not only proud of Ben Harrison as one of our
soldier-boys, but I am glad that in the hour of our danger he stood by
the American flag and was true to it."
At an Ohio Society dinner in New York, April 7, 1888, he made this
address, on old times in his native State:
"My young friends from Ohio, whilst you bear your honored State in
memory, honored memory, never reflect upon others. [Laughter.] There
were good men born long before they were in Ohio. [Renewed laughter.]
There are a great many good men born in other States out of Ohio.
[Continued laughter.] I have encountered them everywhere on this broad
continent and in Europe. There seems to be a pretty fair representation
of Ohio in this great city of New York, and I claim you have the same
right here as the native-born citizens [laughter], not by sufferance
but by right; and I hope you will bear in mind that you are citizens
of a greater country, the United States of America. [Loud applause.]
As your president has well told you in eloquent words to-night, our
friends in Marietta are celebrating a past of vast importance in the
history of Ohio, and the United States, and of all mankind. One hundred
years ago there landed at Marietta that little body whose influence was
then felt and is now felt all over the earth's surface; an organized
body of men with discipline, seeking to make homes for themselves and
their families and to rear up a State, free, where all men could enjoy
liberty and the pursuit of happiness in their own way and at their
own time. Ohio was the first of the States created; not the first of
the thirteen, but it was the child of the Revolution, although the
ordinance of 1787 preceded the Constitution by two years. Yet it
was made by the same men, breathing the same spirit of freedom and
nationality.
"I was born in the town of Lancaster, and I doubt if any town anywhere
possessed a larger measure of intelligence for its numbers, about
3,000. There was General Beecher, Henry Stanbury, Thomas Ewing, William
Irvine. [A voice--"Tom Corwin."] Yes; he belonged in Lebanon, and I
knew him well. His name suggests to me something which I am frequently
reminded of when I go to Ohio. In these modern times I don't think
they're as good as they used to be in those early days. I suppose it
is a common weakness with old men to view things in that way. I could
recount a great many things about those early days. My memory goes back
to 1826. I remember perfectly the election of General Jackson in 1828.
I remember the coffin handbills put out by _The Cincinnati Gazette_
to stigmatize Armstrong and Arbuthnot. At that time I belonged to a
strict Whig family, and we all thought Jackson a tyrant. I have come
to the conclusion in later years that old Jackson was a very clever
fellow. There used to be a man in Columbus named Gustavus Swain, and
what he didn't know about Ohio nobody did. Ohio had its fun and its
serious times, and always bore in mind that they were the first free
State northwest of the Ohio. Indiana, Illinois, Michigan and Minnesota
followed afterward by catching the inspiration from her. [Applause.] It
travelled beyond. I went with McCook to Arizona and found our fellows
there from Yellow Creek. Everywhere we stopped we met them. They didn't
know they were from Ohio, but he convinced them they were. [Laughter.]
"My own father was Judge of the Supreme Court in Ohio when he died
in Lebanon, and 'Tom' Corwin was with him then. I remember perfectly
well how we were all cast down by the news of his death, sudden and
unexpected, with eleven children and a salary of $300 to bring them
up on. How that task was ever accomplished I don't know. [Laughter.]
You see some of us are still alive. [Renewed laughter.] I am one of
those living who, owing to the kindness of his father, stand before you
to-night as representative of the State of Ohio. [Applause.] Vive la
bagatelle. Enjoy the hour. Take the world as you find it. It will grow
vast enough, but I don't know whether it will grow better." [Applause.]
One of his last speeches was made before his Grand Army comrades, at
their National Encampment at Milwaukee, August 28, 1889. "Boys," he
said, "my speaking days are over. I am not going to make any more
speeches. If you want a speech, take Senator Manderson. I think he can
make a good speech. I am always glad to see so many soldiers looking
hearty and healthy. I think we can stand on our legs yet. I like to see
that our old Uncle Sam takes pretty good care of these old soldiers.
Uncle Sam cannot make old men young, but he can make young men just as
good as you or I ever were. I see that Milwaukee is full of them, and
they are coming out of the bushes everywhere. If you think you are the
only old soldiers, you are mistaken. There were old soldiers before
you, and there will be again. Such is the providence of the world. Just
as good men were born a thousand years ago and will be born a thousand
years hence. All we have to do is to do our parts in this short period
of life honorably and honestly. I think we can pass the grand tribunal
and say, 'We have tried to do our best,' and the sentence will be,
'Well done.'
"We have passed through one crisis of our country's history. I don't
see any chance of another, but nobody knows the future. Bring up your
children to love and venerate the old soldiers who fought in 1861
and 1865, and make them uncover their heads when they see that little
banner that you followed in the days which tried us to the utmost. Let
us venerate that flag and love our country and love each other, and
stand by each other, as long as we have heads on our shoulders and
legs on our bodies. These old soldiers who marched against the enemy
in those trying days, a grateful country tries its best to assist, and
will, I think--in fact, I am sure--be good to you when you get too old,
all that is necessary. But keep young as long as you can, and do not go
into a soldiers' home if you can help it."
At about this time he wrote to the editor of _The Chronicle_, at
Augusta, Georgia, this letter, in reply to the question why he did not,
on his great march through Georgia, go to that city instead of Savannah:
"MY DEAR SIR: I am just back from a visit to my daughter, who
resides at Rosemont, near Philadelphia, and find your letter of
the 18th.
"The 'March to the Sea,' from Atlanta was resolved on after Hood
had got well on his way to Nashville. I then detached to General
Thomas a force sufficient to whip Hood, which he, in December,
1864, very handsomely and conclusively did. Still I had left a
very respectable army, and resolved to join Grant at Richmond.
The distance was 1,000 miles, and prudence dictated a base at
Savannah or Port Royal. Our enemies had garrisons at Macon and
Augusta. I figured on both and passed between to Savannah. Then
starting northward, the same problem presented itself in Augusta
and Charleston. I figured on both, but passed between. I did not
want to drive out their garrisons ahead of me at the crossings
of the Santee, Catawba, Pedee, Cape Fear, etc. The moment I
passed Columbia the factories, powder mills and the old stuff
accumulated at Augusta were lost to the only two Confederate
armies left--Lee's and Hood's. So if you have a military mind,
you will see I made a better use of Augusta than if I had
captured it with all its stores, for which I had no use. I used
Augusta twice as a buffer; its garrison was just where it helped
me. If the people of Augusta think I slighted them in the winter
of 1864-'65 by reason of personal friendship formed in 1844, they
are mistaken; or if they think I made a mistake in strategy, let
them say so, and with the President's consent I think I can send
a detachment of 100,000 or so of 'Sherman's bummers' and their
descendants, who will finish up the job without charging Uncle
Sam a cent. The truth is, these incidents come back to me in a
humorous vein. Of course the Civil War should have ended with
Vicksburg and Gettysburg. Every sensible man on earth must have
then seen there could be but one result. The leaders of the South
took good care not to 'die in the lost ditch,' and left brave men
like Walker, Adams, Pat Clebourne, etc., to do that.
Yours truly,
W. T. SHERMAN."
One of the last letters he ever wrote was as follows:
"NO. 75 WEST SEVENTY-FIRST STREET, N. Y.
Thursday February 5, 1891.
E. J. ATKINSON, ESQ., _Secretary Memorial Committee, G.A.R._
"_Dear Sir_:--Your communication inviting me to share in your
memorial services of Decoration Day, May 30, 1891, is received.
I hereby accept and have marked my engagement book accordingly,
so that I may not fall into the error of two years ago, which
actually compromised me.
"The only probable interference is in the unveiling of General
Grant's equestrian statue in Lincoln Park, Chicago, on a day not
yet determined, when I must attend as President of the Society of
the Army of the Tennessee. This unveiling was to have occurred
in October, 1890, was postponed to this spring by reason of a
failure in the casting, and I believe it will not be ready till
this autumn. Therefore I beg you to remind me early in May, 1891,
of this, my promise.
Sincerely yours,
W. T. SHERMAN."
When General Beauregard wrote a letter accusing him of cruel practices,
in requiring prisoners of war to dig up torpedoes which the Rebel army
had planted, Sherman made no reply; but some time later he said to a
friend:
"I did not take any notice of Beauregard's letter. He is a very clever
gentleman, and I like him personally; but he is wrong in his ideas of
civilized warfare. It was no new thing to require prisoners to remove
torpedoes which had been buried by the enemy. Wellington did it in
Spain, and history furnishes a number of similar instances. I was
justified not only by the rules of war but also by the best of humane
principles. In the first instance where I had prisoners to perform such
service, we were near a little town about forty miles from Savannah.
The name of the place escapes me just now. News was brought to me that
a gallant young officer had been frightfully wounded and his horse
killed by the explosion of a torpedo buried by the rebels in the middle
of the road. I filed my army to the right and flanked that part of the
road where the explosives were supposed to be planted. The wagon trains
had to pass over the dangerous ground, however, and I knew that the
tramping of the mules and the heavy weight of the loaded wagons would
surely explode any torpedoes which had been planted. I ordered a detail
of prisoners to be sent ahead of the train, and with picks and shovels
to dig up all explosives that could be found. It was not to protect my
soldiers that I did this, but to save my train. My army had already
obviated the danger by a right flank, and was safely out of harm's
way. Prisoners should be protected, but mercy is not a legitimate
attribute of war. Men go to war to kill and get killed, if necessary,
and they should expect no tenderness. Each side protects itself as
far as possible, and does all the harm it can to the opposing forces.
It was, I think, a much better show of mercy for me to have the enemy
do this work than to subject my own soldiers to so frightful a risk.
At McAllister, when I made Major Anderson remove the torpedoes that
had been planted there, he pretended that it was not civilized war to
make him perform such a perilous feat. I told him he knew where the
torpedoes were, and could safely remove them, while my men, in hunting
for them, would be blown to pieces. He replied that the engineer had
planted them, and he did not know where they were. I told him he knew
better how to locate them than I did, and therefore he should do
it. The fact that every torpedo was found and safely removed showed
that my reasoning was right. I am not afraid to be judged either by
contemporary or future historians on this subject."
The following anecdote of Grant was told, and illustrated with
exquisite humor, by Sherman at a dinner:--
"Grant and I were at Nashville, Tenn., after the battle of Chattanooga.
Our quarters were in the same building.
"One day Grant came into the room that I used for an office. I was very
busy, surrounded with papers, muster-rolls, plans, specifications,
etc., etc. When I looked up from my work I saw he seemed a good deal
bothered, and, after standing around awhile, with his shoulders thrown
up and his hands deep down in his trousers pockets, he said:
"'Look here, there are some men here from Galena.'
"'Well?' I said.
"Looking more uncomfortable every minute he went on:
"'They've got a sword they want to give me,' and, looking over his
shoulder and jerking his thumb in the same direction, he added:
"'Will you come in?'
"He looked quite frightened at the idea of going to face them alone,
so I put some weights on my several piles of papers to keep them from
blowing around and went into the next room, followed by Grant, who by
this time looked as he might if he'd been going to be court-martialed.
There we found the Mayor and some members of the Board of Councilmen
of Galena. On a table in the middle of the room was a handsome
rosewood box containing a magnificent gold-hilted sword, with all the
appointments equally splendid.
"The Mayor stepped forward and delivered what was evidently a carefully
prepared speech, setting forth that the citizens of Galena had sent
him to present to General Grant the accompanying sword, not as a
testimonial to his greatness as a soldier, but as a slight proof of
their love and esteem for him as a man, and their pride in him as a
fellow-citizen.
"After delivering the speech the Mayor produced a large parchment
scroll, to which was attached by a long blue ribbon a red seal as
big as a pancake, and on which was inscribed a set of complimentary
resolutions. These he proceeded to read to us, not omitting a single
'whereas' or 'hereunto.' And after finishing the reading he rolled it
up and with great solemnity and ceremony handed it to Grant.
"General Grant took it, looked ruefully at it and held it as if it
burnt him. Mrs. Grant, who had been standing beside her husband,
quietly took it from him, and there was dead silence for several
minutes. Then Grant, sinking his head lower on his chest and hunching
his shoulders up higher and looking thoroughly miserable, began
hunting in his pockets, diving first in one and then in another, and
at last said: 'Gentlemen, I knew you were coming here to give me this
sword, and so I prepared a short speech,' and with a look of relief he
drew from his trousers pocket a crooked, crumpled piece of paper and
handed it to the Mayor of Galena, adding, 'and, gentlemen, here it is!'"
When General Harrison was elected President, Sherman was called on for
a speech at the Union League Club, New York, and responded thus:
"I am not, and never have been, and never will be, a politician; but
I take a deep and lively interest in everything which occurs in this
country. [Cheers.] I see yonder flag and beneath it the picture of
one of my old, favorite soldiers, one who learned many lessons under
my leadership. I know that he was true as steel then. I believe he
will be to the end. [Cheers.] As a father loves to see his children
advance in the scale of life, so I rejoice to hear of the good fortune
of my old soldiers. I remember General Harrison when he was a colonel.
He is not naturally a military man. His grandfather was, and I
remember his grandfather when he was living down at North Bend, below
Cincinnati. I knew his father. I was once at the old farm at North
Bend, and saw little Ben in his panta-lettes. [Laughter and cheers.]
Now he has become great. He is the impersonation of a cause. He is the
impersonation of the ruling spirit of America for the next four years,
and of its policy, according to Mr. Depew, for the next twenty-five
years."
Transcriber's Notes:
Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant
preference was found in this book.
Incorrect and missing page references in the Table of Contents have
been corrected.
Unbalanced quotation marks were repaired when the intent was clear;
otherwise they were unchanged.
Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.
Some misspelled words or typographical errors occurred only once
and have been corrected to the following: consummation, admissible,
phenomenal, brimming, scandalous, iniquitous, poring, chaparral.
These typographical errors were not corrected: cravans (should
be cravens), reconnoissance, reconnoisance (both should be
reconnaissance), vis-á-vis (should be vis-à-vis).
Text uses "assult" and "assault", "wasn't" and "was'nt"; none changed.
The inconsistent spacing and use of small-caps for "A. M." and "P. M."
has not been changed.
Page 180: "Red Sea" was misprinted as "Red Rea"; correction made based
on comparision with other printings of the same poem.
Page 336: "the situation was known Hood" probably should be "known to
Hood".
Page 341: "worthy its great founder" probably should be "worthy of".
Page 347: "marked and scared" probably should be "scarred".
Page 400: "Villianow" and "Villainow" both appear and are unchanged
here; current spelling is "Villanow".
Page 410: "Buel" was spelled with just one "l". All other occurrences
are spelled "Buell" but as they may refer to different people, this
was not changed.
Page 431: Text is missing after "Of course the abandonment to us by the
enemy".
Page 436: "sineury" probably should be "sinewy".
Pages 440 and 441 were printed in the wrong sequence; corrected here.