CRAZY BILL SHERMAN.
Fred's wound was not a dangerous one. The ball had gone through the
fleshy part of the arm, causing a great loss of blood; but no bones were
broken, and it was only a question of a few weeks before he would be as
well as ever.
The story of the two boys charging four Confederate cavalrymen, killing
three, and disabling the fourth was the wonder of the army. But Fred
modestly disclaimed any particular bravery in the affair.
"It is to poor Bob Ferror that the honor should be given," he would say;
"the boy that knowingly rode to his death that I might be saved."
Fred gave General Nelson the particulars of his capture and escape, and
the general looked grave and said:
"If I had known I was going to place you in such extreme danger, I
should not have sent for you. On account of the crime of young Ferror,
you would have met with a most ignominious death if you had been
recaptured; yet the charging on those four cavalrymen was one of the
pluckiest things I have heard of during the war. You deserve and shall
have a good rest. I have just finished making up some dispatches for
General Sherman, and you shall be my messenger. A dispatch boat leaves
in the morning, and you shall go with it. When you get to Catlettsburg,
you can take an Ohio river steamer for Louisville. The trip being all by
water, will be an easy one, and as a number of sick and wounded will be
sent away on the same boat, you will have good surgical attendance for
your wounded arm. Here is a paper that will admit you to the officers'
hospital when you get to Louisville. Take a good rest, you need it. I do
not think it will be long before I, with my command, will be ordered
back to Louisville. The enemy has retreated through Pound Gap into
Virginia, and there is nothing more for me to do here. Stay in
Louisville until you hear from me."
The next morning found Fred on his way down the Big Sandy. The whole
voyage was uneventful, and after a quick trip Fred once more found
himself in Louisville. The rest and quiet of the voyage had almost cured
the ill-effects of his experience, and with the exception of his wounded
arm, which he was compelled to carry in a sling, he was feeling about as
well as ever.
Once in Louisville, he lost no time in turning over his dispatches to
General Sherman. He found the general surrounded by a delegation of the
prominent Union men of the city. They seemed to be arguing with Sherman
about something, and as for the general, he was in a towering rage, and
was swearing in a manner equal to General Nelson in one of his outbreaks
of anger.
Fred was surprised to find the usually mild and gentlemanly officer in
such a passion, but there was no mistake, he was angry clear through.
"There is no use talking, gentlemen," he was saying, as he paced the
room with quick nervous tread, "I am not only going to resign, but I
have already sent in my resignation. I will not remain in command of the
Department of Kentucky another day; the command of the armies of the
United States would not induce me to remain and be insulted and outraged
as I have been."
"We are very sorry to hear it, General," replied the spokesman of the
delegation. "We had great hopes of what you would accomplish when you
were appointed to the command of the department, and our confidence in
you is still unabated."
"I am thankful," replied the general, "for that confidence, but what can
you expect of a man bound hand and foot. They seem to know a great deal
better in Washington what we need here than we do who are on the ground.
This, in a measure, is to be expected; but to be reviled and insulted is
more than I can stand. But if I had not resigned, I should be removed, I
know that. Just let the newspapers begin howling at a general, and
denouncing him, and every official at Washington begins shaking in his
boots. What can be expected of a general with every newspaper in the
land yelping at his heels like a pack of curs? If I wanted to end this
war quickly, I would begin by hanging every editor who would publish a
word on how the war should be conducted. It would be a glorious
beginning."
"Are you not a little too severe on the newspaper fraternity, General?"
mildly put in one of the citizen delegates.
"Severe! severe! not half as severe as the idiots deserve. They think
they know more about war, and how to conduct campaigns than all the
military men of the country combined. Not satisfied with telling me how
and when to conduct a campaign, they attack me most unjustly and
cruelly, attack me in such a manner I cannot reply. Just listen to
this," and the general turned and took up a scrapbook in which numerous
newspaper clippings had been pasted. "Here is an editorial from that
esteemed and influential paper, _The Cincinnati Commerce_," and the
general read:
"'It is a lamentable fact that many of our generals are grossly
incompetent, but when incipient insanity is added to incompetency, it is
time to cry a halt. Right here at home, the general who commands the
Department of Kentucky and therefore has the safety of our city in his
hands, is W. T. Sherman. We have it on the most reliable evidence that
he is of unsound mind. Not only do many of his sayings excite the pity
of his friends and ridicule of his enemies, but they are positively
dangerous to the success of our cause. The Government should at least
put the department in charge of a general of sound mind.'
"Now, if that is not enough," continued the general, with a touch of
irony in his tones, "I will give you a choice clipping from the great
_New York Tricate_.
"'It is with sorrow that we learn that General W. T. Sherman, who is in
command of the Department of Kentucky, is not in his right mind. It is
said that the authorities at Washington have been aware of this for some
time, but for political reasons fear to remove him. He is a brother of
John Sherman, one of the influential politicians of Ohio, and United
States Senator-elect. While the affair is to be regretted, the
Government should not hesitate on account of political influence.
General Sherman should be at once removed. That he is mentally unsound
is admitted, even by his best friends. Let the administration act at
once.'"
The whole company was smiling at the absurdity of the affair. Even the
general had to laugh.
"I will read once more," said the general. "It is from the _Chicago
Timer_, and hits others as well as myself. Here it is:
"'General Bill Sherman, in command of the Department of Kentucky, is
said to be insane. We don't doubt it. In our mind the whole Lincoln
Government, from President down, is insane--insane over the idea that
they can coerce the South back into the Union. The only difference that
we can see is that Bill Sherman may be a little crazier than the rest;
that's all.'
"There," continued the general, "are only a few of the scores of
extracts which I have from the most influential papers in the land. Of
course the smaller papers have taken their cue from the larger ones, and
now the whole pack of little whiffets are after me, snapping at my
heels; and the good people believe the story because it is published.
Hundreds of letters are being received at Washington, asking for my
removal. My brother writes that he is overwhelmed with inquiries
concerning me. I believe the War Department more than half believes I am
of unsound mind. They are only waiting for an excuse to get rid of me,
and I know that my resignation will be received with joy."
"General," asked one of the citizens present, "have you any idea of how
the story of your insanity started?"
"Oh, yes!" replied the general. "When Secretary of War Cameron was here,
I laid before him the wants of Kentucky, and among other things said
that I needed 60,000 men for defensive work, but for offensive
operations I should need 200,000. The Secretary spoke of it as an
'insane request.' Some reporter got hold of it, and then it went. The
Secretary has never taken the pains to correct the impressions."
"Were you not a little extravagant in your demands?" asked another
citizen.
"Not at all. The politicians at Washington have never yet recognized
the magnitude of the war in which we are engaged. Then their whole life
is office, and they are afraid of doing something that will lose them a
vote. As for the newspapers, they would rather print a sensation than
have us win a victory. My God! They have called me crazy so much they
have alarmed my wife," and the general again indulged in another burst
of anger. When he became calmer, he said: "Gentlemen, I thank you for
your expressions of sympathy and confidence. I trust my successor will
be more worthy than I," and he bowed the delegation out.
Fred remained standing. The general noticed him, and asked: "Well, my
boy, what is it? Why, bless my soul, it's Fred Shackelford! Just from
General Nelson, Fred?"
"Yes, General, with dispatches," and he handed them to him.
"I will read them when I cool off a little; I have been rather warm. I
see your arm is in a sling; been in a skirmish?"
"Yes, General, a small one. The wound didn't amount to much; it is
nearly well."
"You should be thankful it is no worse. Come in in the morning, Fred; I
will have the dispatches read by that time."
Fred called, as requested, the next morning, and found the general calm
and courteous as ever. The storm had passed away.
"General Nelson writes good news," said Sherman. "He reports he has
entirely driven the Rebels out of the valley of the Big Sandy. He also
tells me in a private letter of your capture and escape. He speaks of
the desperate conflict that you and your comrade had with four Rebel
cavalrymen. It was a most remarkable adventure. My boy, I shall keep my
eye on you. I surely should ask for your services myself if I were going
to remain in command of the department."
"General, I am sorry to have you resign," answered Fred, hardly knowing
what to say.
The general's face darkened, and then he answered lightly: "I do not
think they will be sorry at Washington."
And they were not; his resignation was gladly accepted, and the general
who afterward led his victorious army to Atlanta, and then made his
famous march to the sea, and whose fame filled the world, retired under
a cloud. And the injustice of it rankled in his breast and imbittered
his heart for months.