Aiding the Pacific Railroad—A Fool's Errand to Mexico—Political Intrigues at Washington—The Tenure of Office Affair—Work among the Indians—A Trip to Europe—The Belknap Scandal—Sherman's Speech on Military Honor—Travels in the Northwest—Yellowstone Park—Writing His Memoirs—Life in New York—Death of Mrs. Sherman.

Soon after the "Grand Review" and his farewell to his faithful followers, Sherman went with his family to Chicago, to assist at a large fair held for the benefit of impoverished soldiers' families; thence to Lancaster, Louisville and Nashville, visiting old friends. He was then, on June 27, 1865, put in command of the Military Division of the Mississippi, afterward changed to the Missouri, with headquarters at St. Louis. Immediately his attention was turned to the Pacific Railroad, then in course of construction. Many years before, when that great enterprise was scarcely dreamed of as a possibility, he had written of it to his brother, urging that such a road should be built, for the unification of the country, and saying that he would gladly give his life to see it successfully carried through. It was with much satisfaction that he witnessed the opening of the first division of sixteen and a half miles of the Union Pacific, westward from Omaha. He admired the energy with which the road was pushed forward, and looked upon its completion, on July 15, 1869, as "one of the greatest and most beneficent achievements" of the human race. It was to facilitate the building of the road by protecting it from the Indians that Sherman persuaded the President, in March, 1866, to establish the new Military Department of the Platte and to place strong bodies of troops at various points along the line.

As the mustering out of the army proceeded, many changes in organization occurred. The most notable was that of July 25, 1866, when Grant was made a full General and Sherman was made Lieutenant-General. At the same time political feeling was running high at Washington. President Johnson had virtually left the Republican party, and was at loggerheads with the majority of Congress. Grant was looked to as the coming President, and accordingly many of Johnson's friends manifested much jealousy and hostility toward him. Sherman was in the west and so kept aloof from these controversies and intrigues, for which he had no love. But he maintained his old friendship with Grant, and inclined toward his side of every disputed question.

While travelling on duty in New Mexico, in September, 1866, he was summoned to Washington, in haste. Going thither, he reported to Grant, who told him he did not know why the President had sent for him, unless in connection with Mexican affairs. Maximilian, supported by French troops, still held the imperial crown of that country, but was steadily being driven to the wall by the Republicans, who had elected Juarez President. The United States was about to send the Hon. Lewis Campbell thither as Minister, accredited to Juarez as the rightful head of the State, and President Johnson had ordered Grant to accompany him as an escort. Grant told Sherman that he would decline to obey this order as an illegal one, on the ground that the President had no right to send him out of the country on a diplomatic errand unaccompanied by troops; he believed it was a trick of Johnson's, to get rid of him.

Then Sherman went to the President, who was very glad to see him. Said Johnson: "I am sending General Grant to Mexico, and I want you to command the army here in his absence." "But," said Sherman, "Grant will not go!" That startled Johnson, and he began arguing to show the need there was of Grant's going. Sherman repeated the positive statement that Grant would not go, and added that he did not think the President in that matter could afford to quarrel with the General. The upshot of the matter was, that Johnson decided to send Sherman instead of Grant, and Sherman consented to go, believing that thus he was preventing an open rupture between Grant and the Administration.

Sherman and Campbell went to Mexico, and spent some weeks in trying to find Juarez, who was said to be with his army in the field. Not succeeding in their quest, they returned to New Orleans, and by Christmas Sherman was back at St. Louis, convinced that he had been sent as a ruse, on that idle errand. The President, he believed, simply wanted to send Grant somewhere to get him out of the way of his own political ambition.

Now came on the famous "Tenure of Office" affair. Congress enacted, in March, 1867, a law providing that no civil officer appointed for a definite term, by and with the advice and consent of the Senate, should be removed before the expiration of that term except with the consent of the Senate. On August 5, following, the President demanded Stanton's resignation as Secretary of War. Stanton, under the above named law, refused it. A week later the President suspended him and appointed Grant to act in his stead. Things remained in this state until January 13, 1868; when the Senate disapproved the President's action. Grant immediately gave up the Secretaryship, handed the key of the office to Sherman, and went back to army headquarters. Sherman took the key to Stanton and gave it to him.

Sherman was anxious to make peace, and strongly urged the President to appoint General J.D. Cox, then Governor of Ohio, to succeed Stanton, thinking he would be accepted by the Senate. This the President would not do, and the storm increased. At the beginning of February Sherman returned to St. Louis, glad to get away from the political intrigues of Washington, and steadfastly refused to return unless ordered, though the President himself requested him to do so. Then, determined to bring him back, the President assigned him to the command of the Division of the Atlantic. Sherman tried to avoid this appointment, and threatened to resign rather than return East. Had the President's plans been carried out there would have been at Washington these officers: The President, commander in chief of the Army under the Constitution; the Secretary of War, commander in chief under the recognition of Congress; the General of the Army; the Lieutenant General of the Army; the General commanding the Department of Washington; and the commander of the post at Washington. And the garrison of Washington consisted of an infantry brigade and a battery of artillery! Sherman protested so vigorously against such an arrangement that the President finally agreed to let him stay at St. Louis, and then appointed Lorenzo Thomas Secretary of War ad interim. And soon the famous impeachment trial came.

Sherman was appointed, in July, 1867, a member of the commission to establish peace with certain Indian tribes. In that capacity he travelled widely through the Indian country and had many conferences with the chiefs. He proposed that the great Indian reservations should be organized under regular territorial governments, but the plan was not approved at Washington.

So the time passed until March 4, 1869, when Grant was inaugurated as President. Sherman was then made General, and Sheridan Lieutenant-General. Under this arrangement Sherman of course had to return to Washington, and there he renewed his old association with George H. Thomas, whom, however, he presently assigned, at Thomas's request, to the command at San Francisco. There the hero of Chickamauga and Nashville soon died, and Sherman thought his end was hastened by supposed ingratitude. Congress ought, in Sherman's opinion, to have made Meade, Sheridan and Thomas all Lieutenant-Generals, dating their commissions respectively with "Gettysburg," "Winchester," and "Nashville."

On the death of General Rawlins, in the fall of 1869, Sherman was called upon to act for a time as Secretary of War. The experience did not please him. There was too much red tape, and too much division of authority, and he was glad to be relieved by General Belknap. In August, 1871, Rear-Admiral Alden asked him to go to Europe with him, in the frigate Wabash, and Sherman joyously accepted the invitation, as he had long wished to go abroad but had never yet done so. They sailed on November 11, and Sherman did not return until September 22 of the next year. He visited almost every part of Europe and Egypt, and had an opportunity of observing European methods in the great German army which had just been overrunning France.

Life at Washington, with Belknap's assumptions, was now increasingly distasteful to him, and he obtained permission from the President to remove the army headquarters to St. Louis. Thither he went in the fall of 1874, and once more was contented and happy. In the spring of 1876, however, he was recalled to Washington, on account of the Belknap scandal. General Belknap, Secretary of War, was charged with corrupt practices, and resigned, to avoid impeachment. Sherman was much shocked, for he had always esteemed Belknap highly. Referring to the case in a speech at a public banquet at St. Louis, before returning to Washington, he said:

"The army of 1776 was the refuge of all who loved liberty for liberty's sake, and who were willing to test their sincerity by the fire of battle; and we claim that the army of 1876 is the best friend of liberty, good order, and Government, and submits to any test that may be imposed. Our ancestors never said the soldier was not worthy of his hire; that the army was a leech on the body politic; that a standing army of 20,000 men endangered the liberties of 40,000,000 of people. These are modern inventions, modern party-cries to scare and confuse the ignorant. We are not of those who subscribe so easily to the modern doctrine of evolution, that teaches that each succeeding generation is necessarily better than that which went before, but each tree must be tested by its own fruit, and we can point with pride to our Sheridan, Hancock, Schofield, McDowell, and a long array of Brigadier-Generals, Colonels, Captains and Lieutenants, who, for intelligence, honor, integrity and self-denial, will compare favorably with those of any former epoch. We point with pride to our army, scattered through the South, along our Atlantic, Gulf and Lake forts, and in the great West, and claim that in all the qualities of good soldiers they are second to none. I see that some of you shake your heads and whisper Belknap. Why? What was his relation to the army? He was a Cabinet Minister, a civil officer, did not hold a commission in the army at all. We contend that when he was an officer he was an honorable man and rendered good service, and that this entitles him to charitable consideration. 'Lead us not into temptation' is a prayer some of us seem to have forgotten, and we of the army can truthfully say that this offence, be it what it may, is not chargeable to the army, for he was not subject to military law or jurisdiction.

"At this moment the air is full of calumny, and it is sickening to observe that men usually charitable and just, are made to believe that all honesty and virtue have taken their flight from earth; that our National Capital is reeking with corruption; that fraud and peculation are the rule, and honesty and fidelity to trust the exception. I do not believe it, and I think we should resist the torrent. Our President has surely done enough to entitle him to absolute confidence, and can have no motive to screen the wicked or guilty. At no time in the history of the country, have our courts of law, from the Supreme Court at Washington down to the District Courts, been entitled to more respect for their learning and purity; and Congress is now, as it has ever been and must be from its composition, a representative body, sharing with the people its feelings and thoughts, its virtues and vices. If corruption exist, it is with the people at large, and they can correct the evil by their own volition. If they have grown avaricious and made money their God, they must not be surprised if their representatives and servants share their sin. What are the actual facts? We have recently passed through a long civil war, entailing on one moiety of the country desolation and ruin,—on all a fearful debt,—States, counties, and cities follow the fashion, until the whole land became deeply in debt. The debts are now due, and bear heavily in the shape of taxes on our homes, on property, and business.

"Again, the war called millions to arms, who dropped their professions and business, and found themselves without employment when the war was over. These naturally turned to the National Government for help; and the pressure for office, at all times great became simply irresistible. The power to appoint to these offices is called 'patronage,' and is common to all Governments. Then, again, arose a vast number of claims for damages for seizures and loss of property by acts of war. These all involved large sums of money, and money now is, as it always has been, the cause of a life-struggle—of corruption. Yes, money is the cause of corruption to-day as always. Men will toil for it, murder for it, steal for it, die for it. Though officers and soldiers are simply men subject to all temptations and vices of men, we of the army feel, or rather think we feel, more in the spirit of Burns:

Sherman set out in July, 1877, for a tour through the Indian country and the far Northwest. He was absent from home 115 days, and travelled nearly 10,000 miles. After visiting Tongue River and the Big Horn, he went to the Yellowstone National Park. In relating the story of his adventures, he said:

"Descending Mount Washburn, by a trail through woods, one emerges into the meadows or springs out of which Cascade Creek takes its water, and, following it to near its mouth, you camp and walk to the great falls and the head of the Yellowstone canyon. In grandeur, majesty, and coloring, these, probably, equal any on earth. The painting by Moran in the Capitol is good, but painting and words are unequal to the subject. They must be seen to be appreciated and felt.

"Gen. Poe and I found a jutting rock, about a mile below the Seron Falls, from which a perfect view is had of the Seron Falls canyon. The upper falls are given at 125 feet and the lower at 350. The canyon is described as 2,000 feet. It is not 2,000 immediately below the Seron Falls, but may be lower down, for this canyon is thirty miles long, and where it breaks through the range abreast of Washburn may be 2,000 feet. Just below the Seron Falls, I think 1,000 feet would be nearer the exact measurement; but it forms an actual canyon, the sides being almost vertical, and no one venturing to attempt a descent. It is not so much the form of this canyon, though fantastic in the extreme, that elicited my admiration, but the coloring. The soft rocks through which the waters have cut a way are of the most delicate colors,—buff, gray, and red,—all so perfectly blended as to make a picture of exquisite finish. The falls and canyon of the Yellowstone will remain to the end of time objects of natural beauty and grandeur to attract the attention of the living.

"Up to this time we had seen no geysers or hot springs, but the next day, eight miles up from the falls, we came to Sulphur Mountain, a bare, naked, repulsive hill, not of large extent, at the base of which were hot, bubbling springs, with all the pond crisp with sulphur, and six miles from there up, or south, close to the Yellowstone, we reached and camped at Mud Springs. These also are hot, most of them muddy. Water slushed around as in a boiling pot. Some were muddy water and others thick mud, puffing up just like a vast pot of mush. Below the falls of the Yellowstone is a rapid, bold current of water, so full of real speckled trout, weighing from six ounces to four and a half pounds, that, in the language of a settler, it is 'no trick at all to catch them.' They will bite at an artificial fly, or, better, at a live grasshopper, which abound here; but above the falls the river is quiet, flowing between low, grassy banks, and finally ending, or rather beginning, in the Yellowstone Lake, also alive with real speckled trout. Below the falls these trout are splendid eating, but above, by reason of the hot water, some of the fish are wormy and generally obnoxious by reason thereof, though men pretend to distinguish the good from the bad by the color of the spots. I have no hesitation in pronouncing the Yellowstone, from the Big Horn to the source, the finest trout-fishing stream on earth.

"From the Mud Springs the trail is due west, and crosses the mountain range which separates the Yellowstone from the Madison, both tributaries to the Missouri, descends this tributary to the West Fork of the Madison, and here is the Lower Geyser Basin. It would require a volume to describe these geysers in detail. It must suffice now for me to say that the Lower Geyser Basin presents a series of hot springs or basins of water coming up from below hot enough to scald your hand, boil a ham, eggs, or anything else, clear as crystal, with basins of every conceivable shape, from the size of a quill to actual lakes 100 yards across. In walking among and around these one feels that in a moment he may break through and be lost in a species of hell.

"Six miles higher up the West Madison is the Upper Geyser Basin, the spouting geysers, the real object and aim of our visit. To describe these in detail would surpass my ability or the compass of a letter. They have been described by Lieutenants Duane, Hayden, Strong, Lord Dunraven, and many others. The maps by Major Ludlow, of the Engineers, locate several geysers accurately. We reached the Upper Geyser Basin at 12 M. one day and remained there till 4 P.M. of the next. During that time we saw the old 'Faithful' perform at intervals varying from sixty-two minutes to eighty minutes. The intervals vary, but the performance only varies with the wind and sun. The cone, or hill, is of soft, decaying lime, but immediately about the hole, which is irregular, about six feet across, the incrustation is handsome, so that one can look in safety when the geyser is at rest."

Returning to Fort Ellis, they next rode to Helena, the Capital of Montana Territory, 106 miles in one day, by a relay of stages. They visited old Fort Benton, established long ago by the American Fur Company, also Fort Shaw, and then striking over the country to Fort Missoula, and then across the Bitter Root Mountains through Idaho and across Washington Territory to the Pacific coast.

Sherman devoted much time in his later years to literary work, chiefly in the form of magazine articles, about the war, early days in California, and other topics of historic and general public interest. In 1875 he published his "Memoirs," a large volume recording his military career. Its appearance caused a great sensation, as no other prominent army officer had, at that time, done such a thing as to write a history of his own career. The book was written in Sherman's characteristic style, breezy, vigorous, frank, fearless. Many of its statements of fact and opinion bore hardly upon others and provoked contradiction. Sherman took all criticisms upon it kindly, and in subsequent editions printed them, together with many other messages of praise, in an appendix to the book. Moreover, there were, as Sherman himself acknowledged, many errors in the book, originating in faults of memory and otherwise. As fast as these were pointed out and proved, Sherman corrected them.

Referring one day, in conversation, to the criticisms of his "Memoirs," he said:—

"They amuse me, make me laugh, and frequently, I am glad to say, serve me a good purpose by calling attention to real defects and errors which in time will be corrected. I have here a copy of my book with each error, so far discovered, marked and carefully annotated. When the work of correcting is completely finished, they will be made public, either during my lifetime or when I am gone. These 'Memoirs' have been the subject of much misconception in the public mind. I do not intend them as history. I offered them as my testimony, simply. I endeavored to describe accurately the stirring events therein referred to as I saw them. I do not pretend to say that everything occurred as I say it does, but as it occurred to me. Other men may have seen things differently. None of us see things exactly alike. But the records upon which my book is based are open to all. They consisted of my correspondence and official reports, making forty volumes of manuscript letters pasted in letter-books. These forty volumes are in the War Department at Washington. I had a duplicate copy. One day I sat down to glance at these letters, and conceived the idea of reducing their contents to narrative form, but not for publication. I did not intend that the public should ever read them, except as my posthumous papers. After I had made some progress in the work, I showed the first sheets to a few friends. I was urgently advised to complete the labor I had begun, and submit it to the public in the shape of 'Memoirs.' I took the advice and so published the book, expected severe criticism, and got it. I had sense and foresight enough to know that everybody would not agree with me. No writer ever gets justice from his contemporaries, and, outside of this, I knew I was liable to err, and only pretended to give things as they looked through my glasses.

"Now, there were a good many little prejudices among the soldiers and the armies of the West which the public, at this day, do not appreciate. For instance, there were three grand Western armies—the Army of the Tennessee, Army of the Cumberland and Army of the Ohio. There were unavoidable jealousies between these armies and their commanders. Their respective triumphs and defeats were the subjects of undue taunts, ridicule or criticism. My particular army was that of Tennessee, and it is more than possible, and quite probable, that I have colored things highly in its favor. Doubtless I was much prejudiced in its favor, just as you would be in favor of an old acquaintance as opposed to a comparative stranger. I knew every brigade and regimental commander in this army, and was familiar with the fighting capacity of each corps. I knew exactly what division to hold in reserve, and those to storm a breastwork. Besides I had this army so organized that I had only to give an order and it was executed. No red tape nor circumlocution was necessary. If I wanted one of Buell's corps I had to issue a command, and that had to be repeated, perhaps in writing from corps to division, and from division to brigade and regiment, and thus would take two hours to get a body of troops in motion when time was precious and impetuous action was needed. My army was one of wild fighters, never so well pleased as when driving the enemy before them. Buell had a splendid army, but it was slow and conservative, composed of as brave and stubborn fighters as any other command, and yet not accustomed to brilliant and quick movements.

"The attack made on me about the 'political Generals' was unfair. I never used such a term. My sole intention was to mention, in a spirit of fair criticism, certain circumstances that in a measure defeated my efforts to have a constantly efficient army. For instance, we would have a big fight and come out victorious. We would go into camp for an indefinite period, and with no prospect of an early campaign. At such periods I noticed that my subordinate commanders who had previously had political aspirations would strike out for home to see the 'people.' They would make a few speeches, and as the fighting season approached they would rejoin their commands. In the meantime, if I wanted to find out anything about the exact condition of each division, the transportation, or the commissary or quartermaster affairs, I could find no responsible head to give me official information. Such things tended to destroy the discipline, and consequently the efficiency of the army, and it was a matter to which I had good reason to object. I wanted commanders who would stay with their commands, and not those who cherished ambitious political projects, and who were continually running off to see the people at home."

General Sherman in 1884 requested to be put on the retired list of the army, in order that Sheridan might be promoted to the full rank of General; and this was done on February 8 of that year. A couple of years later he removed to New York and for the remainder of his life made his home in that city. He was one of the most conspicuous figures in society there, a welcome and honored guest everywhere. After living for a couple of years in a hotel, he bought a house, at No. 75 West 71st St., and there gathered his family about him. In the basement he fitted up a room which he called his office, and here he received visitors and answered correspondence. In the hours which he devoted to these duties he presented a picture which strikingly impressed itself on the memories of all who saw it. His desk was in the middle of the room, and there he sat, amid piles of books, records and papers, and surrounded by old war maps and mementoes. He wore an easy office coat or a dressing gown, and for aids to his eyesight he had a huge pair of round-glassed, tortoise-shell-rimmed spectacles. Wielding his paper knife and taking up his pen occasionally, he would keep busy and at the same time would sustain conversation with a caller, on whom every now and then, as he addressed him, he would bend his keen, direct gaze, raising his brows and looking over the tops of his spectacles. The walls of this room, too, have often rung with laughter, responsive to the kindly joke, the ready jest, the queer reminiscence of old times, inimitably told, with which he made the time pleasant for groups of his intimate friends, especially his old comrades of the Army. When a reporter visited him he would get a cordial enough welcome to the General's nook, but presently old "Tecumseh" would look up and say something like this:

"Oh, what's the use of bothering with an old fellow like me? Haven't I had enough publicity? Umph! More than I wanted. Now, my dear fellow, I like you and your paper, but you mustn't print anything about me; you really mustn't."

He soon acquired a reputation as a ready and brilliant after-dinner speaker, and in that capacity figured at many public banquets. His first New York speech, after he made that city his home, was delivered at the dinner of the New England Society, on December 22, 1886. At this dinner Henry W. Grady made his memorable address on "The New South." General Sherman directly preceded Mr. Grady in the order of speech-making, and when he arose he got a tremendously enthusiastic greeting, which visibly affected him.

"Many and many a time," he said, "have I been welcomed among you. I came from a bloody civil war to New York in years gone by—twenty or twenty-one, maybe,—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. 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."

With this introduction, he told them that he had been celebrating the same event the night before in Brooklyn, that about two or three o'clock in the morning he "saw this hall filled with lovely ladies, waltzing," and he added, "here I am to-night."

"I have no toast," he remarked, "I am a loafer. I can choose to say what I may—not tied by any text or formula." Then he said that they called him "Old General Sherman," but that he was pretty young yet, "not all the devil out of me," and that he hoped to share with them many a festive occasion.

And he was with the New Englanders and with many other societies and clubs and parties on "many a festive occasion." His speeches were always brisk, spicy and enlivened by anecdote and reminiscence. Chauncey M. Depew regarded him as "the readiest and most original talker in the United States," and Mr. Depew had many opportunities to study him in this character, for the two men frequently sat at the same table and divided the oratorical honors of the evening.

General Sherman was a frequent patron of the drama, and was usually to be seen in important "first night" audiences. Among his personal friends were many of the foremost actors and actresses of the day, and he did many deeds of kindness to struggling but worthy members of the profession. He was one of the first members of the Players' Club, and made a notable speech at a supper given in honor of Edwin Booth.

At reunions of army men he was, of course, a most popular figure, and he greatly enjoyed such gatherings, where he could renew old acquaintances and refresh his memories of the great campaigns of the past. Sometimes he was called upon to preside at some army meeting, and a rare treat it was to see him. For parliamentary law he had no regard, but he "ran things" according to his own will, with charming indifference to points of order and procedure. A reporter has given this verbatim record of such a scene. Sherman took the chair and began thus:

"The meeting will come to order. Ah, yes! (Nodding to an officer about to rise.) General Hickenlooper moves the appointment of a Committee on Credentials (taking a paper from his left vest pocket). The committee will consist of General Hickenlooper, Colonel A. and Major B. We must be speedy, gentlemen, in arranging these details.

"General Smith—Did I see General Smith rise?" (A voice: "He's gone out for a moment.") "Well, never mind; it's all the same. General Smith moves the appointment of a committee on Resolutions, and it will consist of (taking a list from his right vest pocket) General So-and-So. (Looks blank.) That's not the committee, either. This list I just read is another committee, and it will be moved later. Here's the right one. (Reads it.) You see, gentlemen, we get our young staff officers who have nothing else to do to fix up these things in advance."

A voice: "Move to adjourn." The Chair: "Oh, no use putting that motion. We must fix these preliminaries first. I have three more committees prepared here."

And so on for an hour longer. But no one ever resented the old warrior's genial "bossism."

Sherman's last "interview" with a newspaper reporter occurred at his New York home less than a fortnight before his death.

When the reporter entered the General was seated at a square table in the middle of the room, and in a despairing sort of way was trying to find out from a directory where Dr. John Hall's church is situated. He wore a very extraordinary pair of spectacles—each lens like a jeweler's magnifying glass. When he had got the information he wanted, he pushed his spectacles up on his forehead, shook hands and asked what was wanted.

"By the way," he said, suddenly, "I have seen you before."

"Yes; at the Garfield memorial exercises in Cleveland."

"I remember now," General Sherman continued; "sit down. What can I do for you? I have very little time; I am going to a wedding at 12 o'clock."

He was asked to talk about Lincoln and old war-times.

"No, no," he said, shaking his head; "I have said all I have to say and written all I have to write on that subject and all others. I shall not write any more nor talk for publication."

Then he stood up and walked slowly about the room. After a bit he pointed to a shelf of the book-case, where the bulky volumes of the Nicolay-Hay memoirs stood.

"There," he remarked, "in those ten volumes you'll find all the Lincoln literature you want; I have made many speeches on Lincoln, but I don't remember where they are now—I don't remember."

Sherman's first family bereavement was the death of his son Willie, from typhoid fever, at Memphis, October 3, 1863. The boy had shown great fondness for military life, and had been playfully adopted as a sergeant by the battalion that formed his father's headquarters guard. He always turned out at drills and guard-mountings with a zeal that both amused and delighted the general, and he was a great favorite with all the soldiers who knew him. When he died, the battalion gave him a military funeral, and the heart broken father thereupon wrote to its commanding officer, Captain C.C. Smith, as follows:

"My Dear Friend: I cannot sleep to-night till I record an expression of the deep feelings of my heart to you and to the officers and soldiers of the battalion for their kind behavior to my poor child. I realize that you all feel for my family the attachment of kindred, and I assure you of full reciprocity.

"Consistent with a sense of duty to my profession and office, I could not leave my post, and sent for the family to come to me in this fatal climate and in that sickly period of the year, and behold the result. The child that bore my name and in whose future I reposed with more confidence than I did in my own plan of life now lies a mere corpse, seeking a grave in a distant land, with a weeping mother, brother and sisters clustered about him. For myself I ask no sympathy. On, on I must go to meet a soldier's fate or live to see our country rise superior to all factions, till its flag is adored and respected by ourselves and by all the powers of the earth.

"But Willie was, or thought he was, a sergeant in the Thirteenth. I have seen his eye brighten, his heart beat, as he beheld the battalion under arms, and asked me if they were not real soldiers. Child as he was, he had the enthusiasm, the pure love of truth, honor and love of country which should animate all soldiers.

"God only knows why he should die thus young. He is dead, but will not be forgotten till those who knew him in life have followed him to that same mysterious end.

"Please convey to the battalion my heartfelt thanks and assure each and all that if in after years they call on me or mine and mention that they were of the Thirteenth Regulars when Willie was a sergeant they will have a key to the affections of my family that will open all it has; that we will share with them our last blanket, our last crust."

Willie Sherman's remains were afterward removed from Memphis and interred at St. Louis, in Calvary Cemetery, by the side of another son, Charles, who died in infancy, in 1864. In the same plot the body of Mrs. Sherman was placed at her death, to be followed soon by the dust of the great soldier himself.

Mrs. Sherman died in New York on November 28, 1888, after a long illness. After her burial at St. Louis, General Sherman wrote a brief note to the editor of The New York Tribune, saying:—

"I and family are now returned from St. Louis, having deposited the coffined body of Mrs. Sherman near 'Our Willie,' at the very spot chosen by ourselves in 1866, reaffirmed in 1883, and often spoken of as a matter of course between us. We have followed in the minutest particular her every wish. Every member of my own family and hers, the 'Ewings,' are content, for no mortal was ever better prepared to 'put on immortality' than Mrs. General Sherman. Of course, being the older and subjected to harder strains, I expected to precede her; but it is ordained otherwise. In due time I will resume my place by her side, and I want my friends, especially my old soldier friends, to know that they shall not be taxed one cent, for I have made, or will make, every provision. I have received by telegraph, mail, card and every possible way, hundreds of kind, sympathetic messages, all of which have been read by myself and children. To make suitable replies to all is simply impossible, and I offer the above as a general answer."

There were left to him six children: The Rev. Thomas E. Sherman, a priest of the Roman Catholic Church; P. Tecumseh Sherman, a lawyer in New York; Mrs. A.M. Thackara, of Rosemont, Penn.; Mrs. T.W. Fitch, of Pittsburg; Miss Rachel Sherman, and Miss Lizzie Sherman. Messrs. Thackara and Fitch, to whom the two elder daughters were married, were army officers.