General Phil Sheridan as I knew him, playmate--comrade--friend

Front matter

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Chapter I

Notable Historic Persons and Warlike Scenes in Somerset, Ohio — Somerset Before It Was Honored by the Name of Sheridan — Great Men Like William Henry Harrison and Henry Clay Spoke From the Rostrum of the Somerset Court House — The Immortal "J. N." and Other Quaint Characters — MacGahan Created a Na-<

tion by His Pen U

Chapter V

Phil Sheridan Not a Quarrelsome Nor a Fighting Boy — The Village Store — Promotions as Clerk — How Phil Caught the Martial Fever During the Mexican War — His Appointment to West Point.. 50 CHAPTER Vl.

Phil Home From West Point — Kindness to a Dog — On the Frontier

— Fighting Indians — Complimented by General Scott 67

Chapter X

Crossing the Cumberland— General Thomas— On to Nashville— Death by Drowning — Tying Soldiers — Shiloh 134

Contents

CHAPTER XL Leaving Company G— How the Dutch Were Fooled— My First Loss

in the New Company— Louisville Legion— Panic 145

CHAPTER XH.

The Hermitage— "Where Is the Regiment, Doctor?"— The Call of

the Bugle a Benediction and an Inspiration 187

CHAPTER XIH.

Buell Leaving Louisville— Battle of Perryville— A Mule Looking at

the Battle— Deadly Effect of Sheridan's Artillery 201

CHAPTER XIV.

Pen Picture of Sheridan— His Great Tact— How He Enraged the

Michigan Boys— How the Boy of Sixteen Got to the Front 230

CHAPTER XV.

Colonel Mulligan's Death— The Virginia Girl on the Pike— Driven

Out of Martinsburg— Lieutenant Martin 269

CHAPTER XVI.

Old John Brown's Home— The Wounded at the Homestead— Driven

Again— Phil Sheridan Coming to the Valley 293

CHAPTER XVII.

The Heroic Verse of Mr. Read, "Sheridan's Ride"— Echoes at Phil's

Home of the Battle "Twenty Miles Away" 319

CHAPTER XVIIL BATTLE OF WINCHESTER.

Won on the Information of a Girl— Letter of Mrs. Bonsai, Then Miss Rebecca I. Wright, to General Sheridan — A Touching Incident at Cedar Creek 325

CHAPTER XIX.

Return Home — Meeting With Phil's Father — "A Joy Shared Is a Joy Doubled" — A Little Lass Presents the Buckeye to the Hero... 340 CHAPTER XX.

Formal Reception to General Sheridan — "I Promised Mother I Would Be Home to Dinner. I Must Not Disappoint Her" — Memories

of Childhood Days 368

CHAPTER XXI.

Meeting a Veteran — The General Amused at "Nick's" Description 373

CHAPTER XXIL Parents of General Sheridan — A Fighting Tribute for a Noble Little

Woman, Who Gave All Her Sons to Their Country 387

CHAPTER XXIIL Colonel John Schuyler Crosby — Sheridan's Disposition — Had the Temper of a Robust Man — Had the Force of a Giant and the Tenderness of a Woman 409

Preface

If asked why these Memories of General Phil Sheridan had been written, I should answer: "To remove erroneous impressions." Since leaving Ohio I find such impressions quite prevalent. As children, Phil and I were playmates and comrades, and later I was for many years his agent and representative; therefore, my opportunity of obtaining an insight into his traits and characteristics was abundamt. That others may know him as I knew him is the principal aim of this book. I might add also, it affords me an opportunity to atone for the thrashings I unintentionally brought upon both of us from the pioneer masters, McNanly and Thorn.

The rising generation, no doubt, may be interested in the early life and true character of the brainiest fighter and greatest battle tactician on either side of our great war. I find that many believe Sheridan was cruel, hard-hearted and loved v/ar and its savagery, but I know he was kind and gentle of heart. On several occasions I sought to correct these wrong impressions, when the accusing party would point to his unnecessary devastation of the beautiful Shenandoah Valley, where Sheridan seemed to revel in destruction. The accuser was not aware that this was done in obedience to an order from General Grant, whom, I am sure, no one would accuse of cruelty. It was a wise and merciful order to destroy what an enemy subsisted upon, as it brought peace more speedily than the destruction of human life.

Others have said that he loved war rather than peace, and, in evidence, reminded me of his eagerness to fight the French who occupied Mexico under the ill-fated Maximilian. They claimed that General Lee had scarcely sheathed the sword that General Grant so generously returned to him at Appomattox, when Sheridan flew so hastily to another field promising blood and battle, that he did not remain North sufficiently long to take part in that grand parade down Pennsylvania Avenue, where he could have ridden proudly at the head of his ten thousand cavalry, v/hose sabres were burnished with the lustre of so many brilliant victories; but refusing all these attractions, he hurried South. A moment's reflection will show the injustice of this charge. It was one of the chief desires of Sheridan's life to witness and participate in the great review, following victory.

At that time Grant was commander of all the armies. Sheridan could not move to the Mexican boundary without Grant's order. Grant, of his own motion, could not have sent Sheridan. The order was directed by the Admiinistration.

Our government, during the war of the rebellion, had to endure threats and insults which it would not bear for a minute after domestic peace was secured. The English professed hostility to slavery, but sold weapons and munitions of war and supplies of every character to the States fighting to maintain slavery. Louis Napoleon put his poor dupe on a throne supported by bayonets in Mexico. Between England and Napoleon the Third, the Republic was to be overthrown and divided and the Monroe Doctrine forever stamped out. The sending of Sheridan to Texas was a National policy — not one of Sheridan's — and was the first act in the movement to notify the world that our western continent was dedicated to liberty and freedom and could never become a mere series of colonial possessions for rotten European tyrannies.

I do not deny that Sheridan was as eager as his government that the French, sent by Napoleon, the fraud, and their Austrian allies, should be driven from the continent and humiliated for tramping upon the Monroe Doctrine, while we were struggling for National existence. I know they regarded this Napoleon as a cheap, double-dealing coward, and were determined when their hands should be free, to resent the cowardly insult offered us, but it was the government which said: "Go at once."

If, therefore, my testimony were held back longer, it might be too late, and I would be guilty of suppressing the truth, and should we meet on the other shore with this plain statement of facts left unwritten, h- might ask me why I had not idone my duty.

V/ith some it will be difficult to remove the impression that he was cold, cruel and relentless, but I know that his sympathies when a boy were always with the weak, underdog, and I know also that in this respect he never changed. I do not claim that during that long, bitter struggle (the Civil War) he was a lamb — he could not be that and do his duty as a soldier. During the ten years prior to his death that I was his agent, many incidents occurred that impressed me with the fact that he was as hum.ane and tender-hearted as when we played together.

I shall chronicle occurrences of pioneer and volunteer life that will, I hope, amuse and interest the reader. I disclaim a history of General Sheridan's military operations — I am not competent to deal with that, even had I time and space. A few instances of battles may appear which are characteristic of his military genius. If there should be errors in my statements, I hope to be pardoned. In looking back through the spectacles of forty years, I find them dimmed. I depend largely upon an old diary, almost illegible, and shall also make quotations from an old scrap book. In these quotations proper credit cannot, in all cases, be given to the authors, as I copied their words without the least idea that they should ever be quoted. I point to General Sheridan as a guiding star for the young men of our country ; as an example of patriotism, bravery, humaneness, filial affection and purity of character, and if I can remove the false impressions regarding him, shall feel well rewarded. As to the labor— it is one of love.

Since living here, in what General Sheridan often told me was his favorite city, it has often occurred to me as passing strange that Chicago could boast of no visible tribute to this brave soldier commensurate with his great services, surpassing valor and peerless genius.

THE AUTHOR.

Chapter I

NOTABLE HISTORIC PERSONS AND WARLIKE SCENES IN SOMER- SET^ OHIO SOMERSET BEFORE IT WAS HONORED BY THE

NAME OF SHERIDAN GREAT MEN LIKE WILLIAM HENRY

HARRISON AND HENRY CLAY SPOKE FROM THE ROSTRUM

OF THE SOMERSET COURT HOUSE THE IMMORTAL "'j. N."

AND OTHER QUAINT CHARACTERS — MAC GAH'AN CREATED A NATION BY HIS PENCIL.

"It is true the smallest hamlet or obscurest village is large enough to contain the grandest human emotions."

OMERSET is a quiet, old-fashioned place in southeastern Ohio, containing a population of from twelve to fourteen hundred people. For over fifty years the exact number has been fluctuating between these two figures.

The history of the village before it was honored by a name is associated with notable historic persons and warlike scenes. In the early summer of 1797 the Duke of Orleans (afterwards King Louis Philip of France) and his two brothers followed on horseback the line marked out by Washington, beginning at Mount Vernon, leading north to Harpers Ferry, thence along the mountain range to Tennessee, from here again north to Maysville, Ky., across the Ohio river to Chillicothe, thence to Lancaster, through what was, in time, to be Somerset, to Zanesville, and from there east to New York. They were poorly mounted, poorly clad, almost destitute of means. This was when destiny was cruelly drifting the three brothers, Duke of Orleans, Count de Montpensier and Count Beaujolais, about to avoid the guillotine.

Somerset is built on a high ridge, the general direction of which is south. This ridge divides the waters of the Hocking and Muskingum rivers, equi-distant about twenty miles, and its highest point takes in the Court House square.

The main street of the town is built on the line of the Zanesville and Maysville (Ky.) turnpike, and is crossed midway by a street not so long nor so compactly built. Two more streets, sparsely built, one north and the other south of and parallel with Main street, constituted the village when I left there about twelve years ago. It was on South street, generally known as "Happy alley," that the home of Sheridan was located. This street derived its name from the first Methodist church built there, the scene of many happy revivals among the pioneers. It is now known as Sheridan avenue.

In the early days all that portion of the town west of the Court House, on the Hocking side, was known as Pig Foot; all east, on the Muskingum side, was Turkey Foot. Columbus street was the dividing line, also, between two belligerent factions whose sectional prejudices caused many fights among the boys of those days. There was no other cause apparent, but we all know that dreadful wars have been precipitated between Christian nations on more flimsy pretexts than that which caused the war between the Turkey Foot and Pig Foot boys. However, those boys have not fought on that question now for fifty years or more. These mountaineers were types of rural simplicity, believing that the chief object of mankind was to fight and be loyal to his friends and country at the risk of life.

From the Sheridan cottage there is a beautiful view of the Hocking Valley, as it extends many miles south until the blue hills blend with the sky. The scene is so grand and inspiring had not been developed in Phil instead of the martial spirit that early possessed him.

During half a century there has been little change in Somerset. For more than sixty years the curfew bell at the Court House has rung at nine o'clock, which is regarded as the proper hour for retiring. When the Catholic bell on the hill rings for six o'clock in the morning it is expected that everyone is up and doing. It is true that the nine o'clock signal summoning to rest is poorly observed by the average boy, yet it is sternly insisted upon by the village marshal as he makes his nightly round.

The old Court House, with its ungrammatical motto over the arched entrance door, is still standing as proudly and firmly as it did when justice was dealt out there seventy years ago. Some great men spoke from its rostrum — that greatest and most eloquent orator, Tom Corwin, also William Henry Harrison, President in 1840. Henry Clay, too, spoke there, and many times he passed the old building on his way to and from his Kentucky home. Here is an old legend handed down as to how the grammatical error occurred in the inscription above the entrance, which, in large and well-chiseled letters, reads : "Let Justice be done. If the Heavens should Fall."

There came to Somerset in a very early day, before the Court House was built, a German, well educated, speaking many languages. Soon after his arrival he became engaged in a law suit, which was decided against him, greatly to his surprise and contrary to his ideas of law and justice.

When the time came for the completion of the Court House, the Town Council held a meeting to decide what inscription should be carved upon the huge stone to be placed above the entrance. Every member had an idea of his own, but, owing to more or less jealousy, each failed to receive a sufficient number of votes to adopt any one of them, so the meeting ended in a wrangle. It was then proposed that the educated German should be invited to submit one. This was agreed upon, and the next day one of the members of the Council, who was the judge that had decided the case against the German the year before, called and stated his business. The German, still smarting silently under the defeat he had sustained, now saw his opportunity to be revenged, but appeared to be highly complimented at this show of confidence in his literary judgment. However, he had it understood that the judge must assume authorship of the inscription, for it would discredit the Council in the public eye were it known that they had gone outside to procure it. This more than satisfied the judge, as he was proud to father the authorship — it would help him in his next candidacy for election as Justice of the Peace.

When the motto was submitted at the next meeting it was adopted. The lettering was done, the huge stone hoisted to its place, and the building completed, but the error was not discovered until the following year. The judge was reminded of it so often that he became disgusted and moved West, but the German, as he passed, would often look up at that inscription, solemnly smile at the sarcasm, and say: "It ish true! It ish true!"

There is no excitement in Somerset, generally speaking, except during a political campaign, a war, or a rumor of war, at which times the people are thoroughly disturbed ; but when the election returns are all in, or the war over, every one resumes the even tenor of his way. One does not see the worried faces and frenzied rush that are encountered on every hand in the streets of the large metropolis.

No place can be more patriotic than this quiet little village. One of my earliest recollections of little Phil Sheridan is of a

Fourth of July celebration we attended when he and I were about six or seven years old. It might have been here that Phil received his first military impulse and patriotic thrill.

A Fourth of July celebration was a great event at that time in our village; every one participated in the exercises; not that we were more patriotic then than now, but, there being fewer patriotic holidays, our patriotism was more condensed. Early in the morning on these days long trains of farmers' wagons would commence arriving, the head teams carrying the fife, drum and flags. Long tables would be erected in the most convenient groves for a grand dinner; all the uniformed military companies of the county would be present, while a six-pounder brass cannon on the Reading hill would awaken us in the morning and continue its salute until noon, when the grand dinner was prepared. The boys prided themselves greatly on this brass cannon, and eagerly each year did they throw themselves before the car of juggernaut (for the cannon caused many serious accidents) for the happy prominence of being one of the "Firing Squad."

The most attractive feature in a Fourth of July celebration was a decrepit Revolutionary soldier by the name of Dusenbury, who lived about six miles east of us in a hamlet called Greasetown, from the greasy appearance of an old carding machine and its greasy proprietor. The name of that hamlet is changed now to Sego. This old soldier, growing yearly less able to attend the celebrations, attracted much attention, as he was the last one in our part of the county who had belonged to that immortal band of heroes of '76.

The first time Phil and I saw him he was brought up in a farmer's wagon, seated on a split-bottom chair (there were no buggies then and but few carriages). He was clad in a new suit of homespun linen that, we were told, his old wife had spun, wove and made for him. As the wagon drove into the grove it caused something of a sensation, for you could see many who recognized him gathering about the wagon to offer their services in assisting the feeble old man to alight. When safely out, he was carefully led to the platform occupied by our prominent citizens and speakers. The old man, tottering with age and infirmity, was given the place of honor — the observed of all observers.

While this was going on, Phil Sheridan, who was standing by my side, asked me who that old man was and why every one was so glad to see him. I was prepared to answer the question, for I had just heard the story from my elder brother. I told Phil that his name was Dusenbury, he lived at Greasetown, had been a soldier under Washington, and that "Dan" told me he was in five battles. He had belonged to the Horsemen.

I never saw Phil's brown eyes open so wide or gaze with such interest as they did on this old revolutionary relic. I am sure it made a deep impression on his boyish imagination, for he followed him to and from the dinner table, and, when the exercises were over, we were still near him. The patriotic impression he seemed to receive, as he looked with awe and interest at the comrade of Washington, no doubt clung to him through life and was probably the first glow of military emotion he experienced.

When, some years after, the news was brought to our village that the old soldier was dead, and that another firing squad was forming to go down to fire a salute over his grave, Phil was the first among the boys to propose that we walk down, which we did, but fortune favored some of us in gaining a ride home on the cannon.

I have always thought that Somerset has produced more than its share of eccentric and humorous characters. There was always more than a supply of people with peculiar characteristics. It was thought, also, that people here lived to a greater age than elsewhere. This was attributed to the elevated location and the simple lives and regular habits of the people.

As to the remarkable age of some of its citizens, there was "Old Loney," who was one hundred and ten years old and did his own cooking and washing (very little washing) ; then there was Sam Cassal, the tinner, who thought himself a young man at the age of seventy, for, at that age, he climbed the Court House steeple to repair the brass globe that ornamented the spire. I must not forget the village drummer — he was that before Phil Sheridan was born — living only a few steps from Phil's home. During the Civil War, although fifty-six years old, he felt the throb of patriotism with impulse strong enough to volunteer in my second company as its drummer. He and his son Tom, with bugle and drum, awoke us among the stirring scenes of the Shenandoah Valley with their unwelcome "reveille," or lulled us to sleep with the more welcome "lights out." Once a month he could be seen and heard beating the "long roll" to remind the old soldier of Post night; or when a veteran was carried to his last camping ground "Billy" was at the head of the procession with muffled drurni to cadence the step of those who followed their dead comrade to the "green tent," for, in that village, it was seldom that a soldier would take his last march without a military escort and the honors of war. In 1895, ^^ the advanced age of eighty-five years, he attended the reunion of the 31st O. V. I. at New Lexington, and rather than wait for a train at the conclusion of the exercises, he shouldered his drum and walked home, nine miles over the hills.

A star among all unique characters was one J. N. Free, who lived in our county for several years. So overwhelming was his assurance, that he could journey anywhere — East, West, North or South — without meeting a single landlord who would hint of an unpaid bill, or railroad president who would refuse him a pass. These latter were generally made out: "Pass the Immortal J. N. from time to eternity." And whenever he took his departure from an hostelry, it was with a parting, "Call again, J. N. !", from the proprietor.

In 1894 Somerset boasted of three Mrs. John Smiths. One was the subject of much gossip, and as she was thin and bony, she was known by everyone as "Sarah Bernhardt." No one thought of calling her by any other name, and the custom was economical, for it not only saved words but also completely identified her. Then there were three James Browns. Instead of saying "James Brown the lawyer," or "James Brown the shoemaker" or blacksmith, they were known as "Big Jim," "Little Jim," and "Fool Jim"— not very elegant expressions, I admit, but there was never the least objection made to this style of brief identification.

But it is not alone famous warriors and unique characters who have been produced in this once obscure County of Perry, for I read in Martzloff's history of this county, published within the last three years, that a distinguished educator can be added to the list. That author says that President Harper of the University of Chicago received a part of his education at Madison Academy, which is situated about five miles from where Phil Sheridan was born.

You may think I am dwelling unduly on the village and its scenes. My excuse is that it is more than doubly historic. Not only does the luster of Sheridan's immortal valor and g^enius shed a brilliancy over this quiet, simple place — its uapretentious streets and humble homes were known to General Sherman also. To Somerset it was, that Sherman, when quite a young man, came from his home in the next town to "see his girl," who was attending school on the hill. She was a Miss Ellen Ewing, whom he afterward married.

The first time General Sherman attracted my attention he was engaged in the pleasant pastime of courting, and Phil Sheridan and I were playing "hopscotch" a few feet from the residence of Martin Scott, who was a friend of this wooing couple. I remember Phil calling my attention to him as he leaned against the door talking earnestly to his sweetheart. The scene would have been unnoticed were it not that Sherman was clad' in the semi-military uniform then worn by West Point cadets. From another boy we learned that his home was in Lancaster and that he was the ward of Hon. Thomas Ewing, who had secured him the appointment to West Point. He was then home on his vacation.

The next time I saw Gen. Sherman was at Camp Dick Robinson, in Kentucky. He was reprimanding the officers of our Regiment — the 31st Ohio V. I. — for unsoldierly conduct. That story shall appear later.

Had old Mrs. Harper, the village fortune-teller and prophetess, passed us and told me that these two boys, the one with whom I was playing and the other standing but a few feet away, both poor and obscure, would some day be full generals of the army; would immortalize themselves in a great war, and that I should follow them on foot thousands of miles in cold and heat, hunger and thirst ; that both would be offered the Presidency of the United States of America ; that I should look down from one of the mountains of the Blue Ridge and see the younger one entering the Valley of the Shenandoah at the head of ten thousand cavalry and a corps of infantry; that he would change that valley within a year from one of humiliation and defeat to one of triumph and victory — had she told me this, I could not have believed her, and should have thought, "I pity you, Mrs. Harper; you are becoming demented by smoking that old strong pipe for so many years. Your prophecy will never come to pass."

From still another standpoint is the old village of Somerset historic!

Just a few miles south of us a poor boy was born and lived until he grew to manhood. This boy often visited our village to dispose of butter, eggs, etc. When he reached manhood, he left Ohio and became a journalist, developing a heart as well as an intellect. He was employed by the New York Herald and London News, the two most widely circulated papers then published in the English language, traversed the globe in the interest of his papers, and through his letters spread knowledge of men and facts that advanced civilization and humanity. This boy was Janarius Aloysius MacGahan.

His most historic work was the liberation of Bulgaria, He had heard of the debased condition of the Bulgarians and the horrible cruelties practiced by their inhuman masters, the Turks. He went there at the risk of his life to witness these things, and found that half the truth had not been told. He saw the bodies of the murdered Bulgarians fed to the dogs, and women exposed to brutalities worse than death.

His pencil truthfully described these atrocities, and his sympathy and heroism gave force to the brilliancy his intellect inspired. His letters aroused the civilized world, especially England. The result v/as that he dethroned the selfish Disraeli by causing a revolution in that country that placed Gladstone at the head of the British administration. The Czar of Russia was awakened by these letters, which resulted in the Turko-Russian War, ending in the Hberation of Bulgaria and the restoration of milHons of people to independence.

This humble boy changed the map of Europe. He was raised under circumstances not dissimilar to those influencing Phil Sheridan, his older compeer. Sheridan carved immortality with the sword by the opportunities offered him; MacGahan won glory and the gratitude of millions by creating the occasion and consummating a triumph in the creation of States. Sheridan helped preserve the Union by the sword ; MacGahan created a nation by his pencil. The soldier destroyed the enemies of his country; the journalist lifted up the oppressed. The call of the bugle moved Sheridan's patriotic zeal, but a heart-beat animated the pencil of the liberator of Bulgaria.

These boys, born without the advantage of wealth, amidst the embarrassments of pioneer life, have cut their names high on the monuments of fame; they stand higher than kings and emperors. MacGahan could have been King of Bulgaria. Both died young, but still old enough to witness the consummation of that for which they so bravely fought. The one was mourned by a nation which he had done so much to preserve; the other, in far-away Constantinople, met death through nursing his friend. Lieutenant Greene, U. S. A., late Brigadier General in the Philippine war, since Commissioner of Police of New York City, whom he found ill with a malignant fever.

Although a trusted friend of the Czar of Russia and the idol of the Russian army, who knew him as "The Brave American," yet it was MacGahan's special pride that he was an American, and his dying request to his Russian wife was that she make America her home, that their boy might grow up an American. This wish she faithfully granted, dying four years ago in New York City.

MacGahan is revered in Bulgaria as are Washington and Lincoln in America. For ten years his remains reposed where he died, the grave being marked by a beautiful monument erected by his friend and comrade, General Skobeleff, with whom he always rode in battle.