AN INTERESTING LETTER FROM GENERAL GRANT?--?SHERMAN LIVING IN NEW YORK?--?HIS IMMENSE POPULARITY WITH ALL AMERICANS?--?LETTERS FROM HIM?--?EXHIBITED LIKE A CIRCUS?--?NO UNION MAN LEFT IN FOREIGN SERVICE BY CLEVELAND?--?HE WRITES FOR THE MAGAZINES?--?MAGAZINES AGAIN?--?APPROVES MY ARTICLE IN THE NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW ON THE MARCH TO THE SEA?--?HUMBLEST UNION MAN BETTER PATRIOT THAN THE PROUDEST SOUTH CAROLINA REBEL?--?SHERIDAN DYING?--?CONGRESS SHOULD MAKE RANK OF LIEUTENANT GENERAL PERMANENT?--?HIS RECEPTION AT COLUMBUS?--?DEATH OF MRS. SHERMAN?--?ABOUT HIS MEMOIRS?--?NO PROFIT?--?THE ARMY OF THE TENNESSEE AT CINCINNATI?--?MY POEM THERE?--?AN ODD INTERVIEW AT THE WHITE HOUSE?--?CONVERSATIONS WITH SECRETARY BLAINE?--?DEATH OF THE GREAT GENERAL?--?SPEECHES ABOUT HIM IN THE SENATE?--?I AM AGAIN APPOINTED TO SWITZERLAND.

I was now in the West working on my “Iowa in War Times” and sometimes writing an article for the magazines.

Many documents and important autograph letters were put in my hands from all over the country. One of the most interesting of these was from General Grant. It has never been printed and I give it here because it was possibly the only letter he ever wrote during a battle. It was at Black River bridge, Grant was sitting on his horse, Lawler’s brigade had just made a successful charge on the intrenchments. An officer from the Headquarters at Washington rides up to the General with an important order. It is for him to abandon his Vicksburg campaign, and join Banks with his army. “Do you see that charge?” said the General. “You are too late.” He wrote this letter sitting there on his saddle, and the Vicksburg battles and successes followed. Had Grant gone to Banks, the latter would have been chief in command. Grant’s great career would not have had even a beginning. This very minute was the great crisis in General Grant’s life!

May 17th, 10:30 A. M.

Dear Gen.:

Lawler’s brigade stormed the enemy’s works a few minutes since, carried it, capturing from 2,000 to 3,000 prisoners, 10 guns so far as heard from, and probably more will be found. The enemy have fired both bridges.

A.J. Smith captured 10 guns this morning, with teams, men and ammunition.

I send you a note from Col. Wright.

Yours,
U.S. Grant,
Maj. Gen.

Maj. Gen. Sherman,
Com’d’g 17th Army Corps.

I still received an occasional letter from General Sherman. As these were often strong, characteristic and interesting, I copy a number.

He was now living in the Fifth Avenue Hotel, New York, so far as it could be said that he was living anywhere, for his presence was in such demand at public occasions, all over the country, as to make any lengthy stay at home an impossibility. He was beyond all doubt the most loved man at this time in the United States. No American knew so many people by face, and by name. No face was so familiar to almost everybody as was the face of “Uncle Billy Sherman.” The soldiers of the Civil War, of whom a million were still alive, absolutely adored their leader. There was no place so high, no post so honored, that his people would not have pressed it upon him, had he been willing to accept it. To no other living American was the Presidency ever offered without the seeking. No other American was ever great enough to turn aside from the proffered gift.

With all this great place in the hearts of a whole people, he went about his daily life with a simplicity that astonished all; a simplicity of which only true greatness is capable. In the great army processions at the reunions, where he might have led the van, borne on the shoulders of his victorious veterans, he marched afoot in the dust, along with the boys he had led from Atlanta to the sea.

Political glory had no charm for him, and the huzzahs of the multitude he measured for what they were worth. It was my good fortune to know him in his real heart, his inside life, and a man less moved by hopes of applause it seemed to me could not be imagined. He constantly saw before him the vanity of human greatness. To him, a modest life of simple things, well done, was as great as a life glowing with renown. The glory that comes from achievement counted as little. The good that follows doing right for right’s sake, to him was everything. Everything he ever did, or said, or wrote, confirmed this.

He was an American, too, all over, and a loyal one. When an English General attempted to belittle the North, and to foist Lee onto the top of the victor’s column, Sherman answered him.

The following letters refer to this and to his article on “The Grand Strategy of the War:”

“New York, May 1, 1887.

“Dear Byers:?--?I received your letter of April 24th some days ago, and kept it for Sunday’s answering. Of course I could not go to Dubuque on the occasion of the meeting of the G.A. R. and of the remnant of the 13th Infantry. To them, it may seem a neglect, but were I to accept one invitation in the hundred, I would have to abandon family, friends and all peace, to become a vagrant. I am now advertised like Barnum’s circus, at Cincinnati, May 4; at Philadelphia same day, and at Washington May 11–12, for the dedication of the Garfield statue, all a la Pickwick, at my own expense. As soon as I had become domiciled in New York, I was assailed by all the magazines and newspapers to become a regular contributor, at a compensation represented by the algebraic expression x/2, but of course I declined with thanks. Yet when General Lord Wolseley’s article in Macmillan’s March number was published, claiming for Lee the maximum honors, to tower high above every man of this country, I could not resist the temptation to reply, and this is in the May number of the North American. I suppose you are a subscriber, or can obtain a copy. I would like to have your judgment. Also the Century Magazine wanted an article on ‘The Grand Strategy of the War,’ which I prepared with some care, and they may publish in the June number, or may withhold as a kind of preface to their intended publication of all the military publications of the past four years. In the multitude of counsels there may be wisdom, at all events we had better put forth all we have, lest the Rebels succeed in their claims to have been the simon pure patriots and ‘Union Men’ of our day and generation. They have partially succeeded, and may completely succeed, for to-day not a single Union man represents the United States in foreign lands, and the logical conclusion is that we were wrong, and our opponents right. So Lord Wolseley is not to be blamed for assuming Lee as the great hero of the Civil War in America. The war of muskets long since subsided, now the war of the pen must begin, else the remnant of the Union Army must pass down to history as barbarians.

“Your friend,
W.T. Sherman.”

“Army Building, New York, May 21, 1887.

“Dear Byers:?--?I have received your letter of May 5th, and have seen Thorndike Rice about your articles, but did not tell him all you wrote. I think Rice is too much engrossed with social life to give much of his personal attention to the North American. All that I could extricate out of him was that your article would appear as early as possible. I sometimes pity these magazine men who have to read cords of manuscript, and out of the mass choose that which will pay. The great mass of work devolves on subordinates, and the editor finally indicates what shall be ‘set up.’ Even after that, articles are kept hanging fire. You had better let what you have done stand, and in future watch the current of the public thought, prepare your papers, and deal with that magazine which you consider fairest.

“Now as to my May number, it was suggested by Thorndike Rice in a telegram from Washington. I at first positively declined, but when I got the full text of Wolseley’s article in Macmillan’s Magazine, I saw somebody must answer, and all turned to me. I wrote it one Sunday, and gave it to Rice for $500. If I had charged a thousand, he would have paid it. In like manner my article on the Grand Strategy of the War is longer, better, and I charged the Century Magazine $1,000 for it. It was designed to comprehend the whole series of War Articles to be bound in a volume.10 It may appear in the August number of the Century.

“I am besieged by the magazines, but shall reserve myself for chance shots like this of Wolseley’s. I am not willing to rake among old embers for new fire.

“Mrs. Sherman and Rachel are now at Detroit, on a visit to Tom. Lizzie and I are at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. All go to Lake Hotel, Lake George, N.Y., early in June. I will retain my room, and circulate generally. I ordered the Appletons to send you my second edition, in the theory that Mrs. S. had not done so. Please inscribe it to your son, on the blank page. You can substitute therefor at some time one of my letters, which will answer for an autograph. It is a good deal of trouble to go to the Appletons to do this in person.

“Love to all

“Yours truly,
W.T. Sherman.”

Shortly, I was gratified to receive from him a letter complimentary to my article in the North American Review, describing his great campaign.

“New York, Aug. 26, 1887.

“Dear Byers:?--?In coming from my office in the Army Building, I stopped at the office of the North American Review, to see Thorndike Rice, but he was away at Newport, and his partner, Redpath, gave me an advance copy of the September number, which contains your article, ‘March to the Sea.’ It reads to me very well, condensed, strong and well sustained by proofs. I think it will command large attention, and I trust it will lead to profitable employment for your pen. The leading events of the war are now accepted, are crystallizing into pages, and even paragraphs. The public is tired of minute details, especially to bolster up this or that man. You have, in the compress of six or eight pages, given all that the memory of the ordinary reader can retain. I have already put it in a sealed envelope, addressed to my daughter Lizzie, who reads and appreciates everything from you. She, with her mamma, Rachel and Cump, has been up at Lake George since June. I have been up three times. Spent last week there, but am now here preparing for the Detroit meeting, Sept. 14–15, as also the G.A. R. Encampment at St. Louis, Sept. 25–28. If you come to St. Louis then, you will find me at Henry Hitchcock’s, corner of Fifteenth and Lucas Place.

“As always your friend,
W.T. Sherman.”

In February of 1888, General Sherman wrote me some very decided views he had, as to the difference between loyal men and disloyal men.

“New York, Feb. 10, 1888.

“Dear Byers:?--?I have your letter of the 5th, and as I have staid indoors to-day for the express purpose of answering a batch of kind messages sent me on my sixty-eighth birthday, I answer yours in its turn.

“Of course I am pleased to know that you approve my Century article. It would have seemed more opportune had it been printed a year in advance, as it was written at the same time as my Wolseley article. But the editors paid me for it, and could use it for their interests, and at their own time. It looks to me as if the Southern men will succeed, not only in controlling the history of the war, but in achieving the government of this country, notwithstanding we won the battles. Our Northern people split up on questions of minor interest, whereas they have skilled leaders who control ‘their people,’ and by throwing their vote into one or other of the Northern factions, actually govern both. This is none of my business, and I cannot help it. So long as I live, I will hold the most humble Union man as a better patriot than the proudest Carolinian of South Carolina. Wade Hampton is out in another blast against me for cruelty and inhumanity during the ‘March.’ The people of Georgia bore their affliction with some manliness, but in South Carolina from the Savannah River to the State line, the people whined like Curs, and Wade Hampton’s resistance was so feeble as to excite our contempt. I shall not notice his paper, meant for home consumption, but if he attempt to enlarge his sphere, I will give him a blast of the truth, as you and hundreds know it.

“I shall be glad if you come East, and it may be you can secure a better audience here than from Iowa. The time will come when the Mississippi Valley States will assert their supremacy in literature, as now in the products of the soil, but the time is not yet, and may not be in my day.

“We are all reasonably well except Mrs. Sherman. Wishing you and yours all the happiness possible, I am truly

“Your friend,
W.T. Sherman.”

In June, General Sheridan was dying, and his great comrade in arms sent me this little note. My book, “Iowa in War Times,” had just appeared, and a copy was sent to him.

“New York, June 2, 1888.

“Dear Byers:?--?I received by due course of mail your letter of May 27th and yesterday came to me at the Fifth Avenue Hotel the volume, ‘Iowa in War Times.’ I have cast my eye over it, and recognize most of the illustrations. The print, paper, etc., all seem good, and I know the text will be even better. It is hardly possible that I can read this volume in the whole, but I will have occasion to refer to parts, to compare with other accounts of the same general events.

“General Sheridan’s extreme illness has caused universal grief. I hear daily by telegraph from his brother, Colonel Sheridan, and have just sent a message of congratulations at his promotion to the full rank of ‘General.’ But honestly I feel that it was too late to carry with it much compliment. All hope of his recovery seems to be abandoned, and every morning I wake, expecting to find the papers in mourning.

“Congress ought to make the rank of Lieutenant General permanent. It is simply dishonest for the country to compel a Major General to do the work of a Lieutenant General, just as in the war hundreds of Colonels had to command brigades and divisions.

“Mrs. Sherman is not so well, but went yesterday to make a month’s visit to our daughter Elly near Philadelphia. Rachel and Lizzie are with me at the Fifth Avenue Hotel.

“Give my best love to Mrs. Byers and the family.

“Always your friend,
W.T. Sherman.”

By September the Shermans were in their new home in New York, at Seventy-first Street. After all, they were keeping house again. The General had had enough of expensive and fashionable hotels. He had been homeless longer than he cared to be. He describes this house in his letter of the 16th. I was also glad to have his approval of my “Iowa in War Times.”

“No. 75 West 71st St.
“New York, Sept. 16, 1888.

“Dear Byers:?--?When at Columbus, your letter of Sept. 1st was handed me by Maj. Loring, at a time when I was chased from corner to corner as though I had just escaped the penitentiary. I fear the Major thought me neglectful of him and his letter. Let him put himself in my place. Forty thousand ex-soldiers and sixty thousand strangers were added to the resident population, all bent on seeing the sights, of which I was one. Instead of dying out, the interest in the war and its actors seems to grow with time. I was not allowed time to eat or sleep, much less read and write letters, but I escaped alive and should be grateful.

“I am now in our new house, not as large as that in St. Louis, but better located, near Central Park and near the Sixth Avenue Elevated R.R. Four full stories and basement, in which I have my office with all my books and papers. Not divided as they were when I was at the Fifth Avenue Hotel.

“The interior arrangements are not yet complete, so the family is away, but by the middle of next week it will be all ready and the family will come. I hope this is my last change on earth.

“I have at intervals found time to read your volume, ‘Iowa in War Times,’ and congratulate you in having succeeded in giving to each regiment and organization a fair measure of space, and yet preserved the general authenticity of events. I hope the book pays you proportionately to your labor and expense. As now established with Mr. Barrett I can always supply you dates, facts and figures, should you still pursue your literary labors.

“With love to the family, I am, etc.,

W.T. Sherman.”

Mrs. Sherman’s health had been failing somewhat for months, but nothing absolutely serious was anticipated till, unexpectedly, she was worse in the mid-winter. Then the end came so suddenly that some of her children could not reach New York in time to see her passing away.

I was in California, and shortly received this reply to my letter of sympathy:

“New York, Dec. 19, 1888.

“My Dear Byers:?--?Your letter of sympathy is here. Mrs. Sherman had long been ailing from heart trouble and general disability, and everything that could be done for her relief was willingly offered by me and the children. I did not realize any danger until the day before her death, when she began to fail very perceptibly, and I at once telegraphed to the absent members of the family to join us at once. Neither Mrs. Fitch, Mrs. Thackera, or Tom reached home in time to see their mother alive. The remainder of us were at the death-bed, and were witnesses of a painless and peaceful end. We had learned that there was no possibility of her ever fully recovering, and as she therefore must have contended with much pain and suffering, our anguish at her demise was somewhat assuaged. “Every courtesy was extended the funeral party on its sorrowful journey to and from St. Louis, Mr. Roberts, President of the Penn. R.R., excelling in his kind and accepted offer of his private car. At St. Louis, all preliminaries had been carefully attended to by Messrs. Jas. Yeatman and Geo. D. Capen, so that we were enabled to start on the return trip the same evening.

“I well know the respect and honor with which Mrs. Sherman held you at all times, and in which we all shared, and I beg you now to be assured of our continued affection and deep interest in all that concerns you and yours.

“Sincerely your friend,
W.T. Sherman.”

In September of 1889 the Army of the Tennessee was to hold its reunion and banquet at Cincinnati. I was elected to deliver an original poem for the occasion. As General Sherman was president of the Association, I sent a copy of my poem to him in advance. It was called “The Tramp of Sherman’s Army.” I was greatly interested to receive the copy back from him, with marginal notes and suggestions for changes written over it, and even a couple of new lines of his own composition. Possibly, it was the only time General Sherman ever indulged in writing poetry.

When the reunion took place, many great characters sat upon the stage?--?Cox, Logan, Dodge, Howard, Sherman and many others of the great war heroes. At the tables sat hundreds whose names had been known in the Civil War.

The toasts consisted of stanzas from “Sherman’s March to the Sea.” They were elegantly painted by hand on white satin, on which also was traced in gold the route of that famous March. Each toast was responded to by the particular General who had commanded at the point described in the verse. General Sherman, as president, made the first speech.

He then introduced me to the audience, and I recited my poem, “The Tramp of Sherman’s Army,” with bugle strain accompaniment. Its reception showed that the enthusiasm for war ballads had not died out. Each morning of the reunion the officers of the Army of the Tennessee, preceded by a drum corps or a band, walked in line from the Burnett House over to the hall where they held their meetings. Though Sherman was there, and many other distinguished men, it was almost a sad and pathetic sight as they walked together in the middle of the street, death had so thinned the line and reduced the number! Some of the onlookers did not realize what men were marching there, what names for history, or that among that peaceful looking little band were veterans who had led great armies to battle.

March, 1888.?--?With Mr. Harrison’s installation at the White House, I resolved to again, if possible, enter the service abroad. In the meantime, my military book of Iowa had not been a source of profit. One large edition sold, that was all. It seemed I was not alone in receiving no great income from war books. General Sherman, speaking of his own experience, wrote the following letter:

“New York, June 14, 1890.

“Dear Byers:?--?I have just received your letter, enclosing the programme of exercises for the 18th. I see so many boys nowadays, who were born after the war, that I am hardened. It so happens that my youngest, Cump, born at St. Louis, since the war, is being examined to-day for admission to the bar. I am also just back from West Point, where I saw the corps of cadets, about three hundred, strong, brawny boys, all born since the war, who now look up to me as a stray souvenir of a bygone age.

“I am sorry to learn that your book, ‘Iowa in War Times,’ has not proven more profitable. Your case is not exceptional, as I have good reason to know. So many expect me to present copies of my ‘Memoirs,’ ignorant of the fact that the publisher gets nine-tenths, the author one-tenth, so that when I present a copy it amounts to my buying it at 80 cents less than the common purchaser. My annual receipts from Sherman’s Memoirs don’t pay one-quarter of traveling expenses demanded at the Army Reunion each year. The same is true of Sheridan’s and other war books. Grant’s case is exceptional, because purchasers believe they contribute to the support of his family.

“Of course I know nothing of your prospects for a mission or consulate. I infer the present administration, like all others, must use offices to pay for active political work.

“Present me kindly to Mrs. Byers. Lizzie is now absent on a visit to her sister, Mrs. Thackera, at Cape May. Rachel is at home, and we generally have visitors.

“Sincerely your friend,
W.T. Sherman.”

Senator James F. Wilson, who had been a true friend in all the years that I had been in Europe, took me to the Executive Mansion one day, to introduce me to the President. It was a curious meeting that morning. I had never seen Mr. Harrison, and we waited with interest in the anteroom of his private office. The place was full of grave looking Senators. It might have been a funeral.

Mr. W. and I stood half an hour waiting among the rest. I wondered why the President’s door did not open. All the time there was a little low buzzing going on among some of the waiting ones, and I noticed a few slip up and whisper to a very sober looking little man, in a corner by the window. I supposed him to be a Senator. There would be some low talk with him, a stiff bow, and then some other Senator would slip up and go through the same performance. At last I whispered to Mr. Wilson, “Who is that man by the window?” “Why, that is the President,” he answered, to my complete astonishment. We had been in his presence all the time, and I had not known it. Now my attention was doubly fixed on him. Here was a quiet little man in the corner, ruling seventy millions of people. He seemed to indicate, by an extra glance, who might approach him next. I thought the Senators were all afraid of him, judging from the humble way in which they walked to the corner, and the very prompt manner in which they went away. There was not a smile on anybody’s face, and all was silence. Had they all been stepping up to take a last look at somebody’s corpse, the scene could not have been very different. If he actually promised some Senator something, there was no sign of the promise on his face.

After a while, he glanced over to Senator Wilson. We were but a few feet away. Mr. W. went up and spoke in a low voice, telling him, as I now know, something of the propriety of appointing men of experience to the service, and suggesting my name. Not a muscle moved on the President’s face. It is no go for me, I said to myself. Then Mr. Wilson said, a little louder: “Now, Mr. President, let me present Mr. Byers.” I heard him and stepped forward. I expressed the honor done me, and he mechanically took my hand; but, as if taking a second thought on the matter, he looked over my shoulder at somebody else, and, without saying a word, simply let go. My interview with the President of the United States was over. I laugh about it yet. “It did not promise much, did it?” I said to the Senator, as we went out. “Well, no, nothing extremely definite, or to count on,” replied Mr. Wilson. “But he never says much, and means much more than he says. He is icy with everybody, you saw that?” Yes, I thought I did. A year went by and I did not try it again. A place was offered me in South America, but I did not care for it. Then one morning Mr. Wilson said, “We will go and see Mr. Blaine.” The interview was absolutely the opposite of the one at the White House. Secretary Blaine had great esteem for the Iowa Senator, as did every one who knew him. He invited us both to come and visit him the next morning, at his private house. It was at the corner of Lafayette Square, opposite the Treasury. While we waited in the drawing-room I forgot for the moment what I had come for. I was only thinking of the singular history of that house.

Upstairs was the room where the attempt on Secretary Seward’s life was made, the night Lincoln was assassinated. Out there in front of the door, Key was killed by General Sickles. At this moment, the house was the home of the most noted living American statesman.

Shortly Mr. Blaine entered, all cheer and sunshine. He was a handsome man, with his fine erect form, his intellectual face, his genial smile, his great, big heart. He did not need the Presidency to make him great. Though able for very hard work still, he was looking very white in the face, his hair was quite gray. He talked to us for a time about the need of keeping well. Did he have premonitions then? “Never sleep in a room without a window raised, be it ever so little,” he said, “and don’t go to late night banquets in crowded rooms. Secretary Windom,” he went on, “has been murdered by trying to please crowds, speaking to them when he ought to have been in bed. I am done letting people make an exhibition of me. I will never, never sit in a room full of smokers again, and sacrifice health for others’ curiosity. That’s all they want of public men in such places, and one can die at it just as Windom has done.”11

After a while I wondered if the Secretary had forgotten the object of our call. Senator Wilson hinted at it at last, and Mr. Blaine got up, walked about the room and said: “Really, now, I have been too busy to keep my promise.” He asked us to come to him again, and fixed the morning. “Bring with you the consular list and we will go all over it together.” He also spoke of a kind letter on file in my interests from General Sherman, who was then very ill in New York.

That afternoon, while on a street car going over to the Capitol, I heard the conductor tell a passenger that General Sherman was dead. I was greatly moved and pained. A thousand instances of his friendship for me rushed through my mind. In a few minutes I heard, from a seat in the Senate Gallery, the eulogiums pronounced by Senators Evarts, Hawley and Manderson. Hawley almost broke down in tears. The Senate adjourned, and probably every loyal heart in America was in sorrow. The Southerners in the Senate that afternoon, sat still, and heard the eulogies on Sherman in perfect silence. I wondered that not one of them had the nobility to rise in his seat and speak of the great dead.

I went to New York and on the morning of the funeral was with the family at the Sherman home. In the little back parlor, in the full uniform of his highest rank, lay the commander of the March to the Sea. Candles burned around his coffin in the darkened chamber. While I was standing there, looking at his face, his son, Father Thomas E. Sherman, who had that moment reached home from Europe, came into the room. He embraced me, for we had many mutual memories.

A short Catholic service was held by the children that morning over all that was left of their illustrious father. They were all sincere Catholics. The mother, devoted to the same church, had died in the room upstairs. The father had been reconciled to his children’s kind of religion. He was not a professor of any creed himself, and for his children to have this farewell ceremony, conducted by his own son, seemed in every way appropriate.

That afternoon, New York City and the people of America buried General Sherman. A more imposing funeral was never seen in the United States, not even at the death of Washington.

Shortly, Senator Wilson and I, on invitation, went to Secretary Blaine’s home again. There was a bright “Good morning, Mr. Wilson,” as the Secretary again entered the drawing-room. Seeing me, he walked across the room, took me by the hand and congratulated me on my reappointment. “Your name goes to the Senate this afternoon for St. Gall,” he continued, “the post shall shortly be increased in rank, and you will be made Consul General for Switzerland.” He offered me my old post at Zurich, however, if I preferred it. I never saw Mr. Blaine again.