 | SHERMAN'S STORY. Saratoga in 1901 |  |
SHERMAN'S STORY.
Once, while dining with the General at a little Italian
woman's restaurant in Front street, in Memphis, in 1864, after
General Veatch and General Chetlain—now our Consul at
Brussels—had told several army stories, the General's chief of staff
told the chicken story. Said he: “While at Bowling Green,
the rebel women bothered us to death. It was always the same
old complaint—`the soldiers have milked our cows, or stolen
our chickens, or busted into the smoke-house. Always the same
story too all through Kentucky and Tennessee; at Chattanooga
we were bored to death with these women.”
One morning a tall giant woman
in a faded sun bonnet besieged
the General's headquarters.
“Well, my good lady, what can
I do for you?” inquired the General
as she hesitated at the tent
entrance.
“My Chickens—”
“Sh—! Madam,” broke in the
General—” I have made up my
mind solemnly that the integrity of
the Constitution and the unity of
the Republic shall be maintained
if it—takes every chicken in Tennessee!”
July 21st.
This morning I met the General early, and strolled down to
Congress Spring, and then around the Park. He was vivacious
and sparkling as Hathorn water, and walked and talked like a
boy.
As George Alfred Townsend said of Miles O'Riley,
“there's a splendid boyishness” always about Sherman. He is
always ready with a pun, a sarcastic repartee, or a strong
thought—a very David with the tongue and pen too.
“Do you remember how I managed those Charleston rebels
when they wanted to pray for Jeff. Davis in the churches?” asked
the General, as we strolled along.
“No. How?” I asked.
“Why, I said, yes! pray away—he needs it!—and d-n it if
they didn't get mad and go right away and pray for Lincoln.”
“Been killing a good many Injuns out West, General?” I
asked.
“No; the papers kill more Injuns than we do. Why, if we
killed half as many Injuns as the Herald does, we'd be `short' of
Injuns!”
| SHERMAN'S STORY. Saratoga in 1901 | |