In early 1861, a forty-one-year-old ex-soldier named William Tecumseh Sherman, then president of the Louisiana State Seminary of Learning & Military Academy (later Louisiana State University), was dining with Professor David F. Boyd, a dear friend from Virginia, a state contemplating secession from the Union. As recalled by Boyd, Sherman minced no words:
You people of the South don’t know what you are doing. This country will be drenched in blood, and God only knows how it will end. It is all folly, madness, a crime against civilization! You people speak so lightly of war; you don’t know what you’re talking about. War is a terrible thing! You mistake, too, the people of the North. They are a peaceable people but an earnest people, and they will fight, too. They are not going to let this country be destroyed without a mighty effort to save it. . . . Besides, where are your men and appliances of war to contend against them? The North can make a steam engine, locomotive, or railway car; hardly a yard of cloth or pair of shoes can you make. You are rushing into war with one of the most powerful, ingeniously mechanical, and determined people on Earth—right at your doors. You are bound to fail. Only in your spirit and determination are you prepared for war. In all else you are totally unprepared, with a bad cause to start with. At first you will make headway, but as your limited resources begin to fail, shut out from the markets of Europe as you will be, your cause will begin to wane. If your people will but stop and think, they must see in the end that you will surely fail.1
Sherman knew whereof he spoke. With remarkable prescience, he described as concisely as can be imagined the tragedy that was about to befall the United States, the American Civil War. He had no inkling of the major role he would play in this drama, something that seemed to come about almost by chance. There was little in his background that would presage it.