Mrs. General Sherman.​--​Page 67.

      “Don’t talk religion with her, though,” said the General to me one morning in his study, after breakfast. “She is a very zealous Catholic, and you​----​” “I am a zealous nothing,” I interrupted. “I like Catholics the same as other good Christians, and have gotten over the notion that all the salt of the earth is in the creed I accidentally was born in.” “Then you are all right. As for myself, it’s no difference,” he went on. “Why, I guess, I don’t believe in anything; so in this room talk as you please.” Mrs. Sherman was a thousand times more than a good Catholic. She was in every sense a good woman. Here, as at her other later homes, she had a little room arranged as an office, where she worked and studied out plans for helping the poor. Probably no woman in the United States ever spent more time and money in doing good. Few had more true friends. Her religious zeal was well known, and never abated. She thoroughly believed the Catholic church the best church.

      She was extremely bright and kind in her ways. The army officers all liked her, and her house stood open to every friend.

      I recall one evening how she and the General gave a supper to the staff. All were in uniform. She had not invited them to come; she had just told them to come, and they came with their wives. Two or three civilians were present, Mr. Church, a famous war-song singer, and myself among them. After the supper there was some instrumental music in the drawing-room. “And now,” said Mrs. Sherman, “Mr. Church is going to honor us with a song.” My verses, “Sherman’s March to the Sea,” were still popular in the country, being sung everywhere. Mr. Church stepped to the front of the piano and sang the song in such a voice as I had never heard it sung in before. The splendid rendering of the music, his great, fine, patriotic tones, that sounded like the coming of an army with banners, moved everyone in that room deeply. For a moment, I entirely forgot that the words were my own. All applauded, so did I; why not? So did the General. Then a guest stepped forward and made a little speech. “I am happy,” said he; “I speak for all. What a pleasure we have had​--​the first song of the war, sung by the first war-song singer in the land, in the presence of the one who wrote it, and in the home of the Commander who made the March.”

      General Sherman, too, made a little speech, praising the music, the words, the singer, and then he added: “Without this song, the campaign never would have had its picturesque name. Now,” said he, “I want Mr. Church to sing that other favorite song of mine, ‘Old Soldier, You’ve Played Out Your Time.’ ”

      They were rugged verses Mr. Church now sang, and striking music, but, privately, I almost thought it a little cynical in the General to agree with the words that declared an unknown grave in a ditch a desirable ending for the true soldier. “But that’s it, that’s it,” said the General. “Do your duty, have a good time and win glory, but don’t kick when the end comes. That song is the true picture of a soldier’s life.”

      It was a memorable evening, but, I fear, not half a dozen of that happy company are on earth now. Yet it seems so few years back. The voices of all of them still seem to sound in my ear. I write down the little record before the last memory fades. That night at General Sherman’s house was an echo of the war days.

      When the company left that night, the General asked me up to his little room. He was smoking constantly. The conversation turned on the origin of the “March to the Sea.” “Yes, I know,” he said, “some of Grant’s friends are claiming that he suggested that, but no one ever heard Grant himself utter one word to claim it. True, he was chief commander over all the armies, when I cut loose for the South; but it would be just as senseless to attribute it to the President, who was over all of us, as to attribute it to Grant. Lincoln’s letter to me, after the event, shows how completely he knew who originated the idea of my changing base and putting my army down by the ocean; and a letter from Lee, written after the war, shows what he thought of the importance of my getting this water base, and of its sequence, the march north in the Carolinas. ‘The moment he reaches the Roanoke,’ said Lee, ‘Richmond is untenable, and I leave it.’ ”

      One May morning (1864), away back by Chattanooga, a certain General Warner asked General Sherman, privately, what he was going to do when he got his army away down to Atlanta, without supplies, and with a lot of rebels behind. General Sherman suddenly stopped his pacing the floor, knocked the ashes from his cigar, and said, “Salt water.” “Do you mean Savannah or Charleston?” said the astonished staff officer. “Yes,” replied Sherman, “I do.” That was the origin of the “March to the Sea.”

      General Warner related the whole details of this conversation, in a letter to General Sherman’s wife. Lincoln congratulated the great leader, and added, “None of us, I believe, went further than to acquiesce.” One of the interesting autograph letters of the war is that one to Sherman, saying: “I congratulate you on the splendid results of your campaign, the like of which is not heard of in past history. (Signed) U. S. Grant.”

      “Well,” said the General at last, laughing, as he gave the fire a great stir with the poker: “I suppose they won’t hardly doubt as to who really made the march.”

      *****

      November, 1872.​--​Went out to my home in Iowa and visited my relatives. While there, received a couple of notes from General Sherman, saying Miss Sherman was getting ready to join me on my trip back to Europe, the 14th of December, by the “Celtic.”

      “Washington, D. C., Nov. 5, 1872.

      “Dear Byers: I wrote to Mr. Sparks, agent, of the White Star Line, soon after you left us, but he had gone out on the plains. He is just back, and writes me promptly, offering the most liberal terms, more than I deem it prudent to accept. He offers the best rooms