Chapter Twenty-Four   

TAKING THE WAR TO THE BRAGGART CAROLINIANS

While in Savannah Sherman renewed contact with his family, although he did not receive a letter from Ellen until January 4. On Christmas Day, in a message to Minnie, he wrote, “Tell Mama if she is at South Bend [Indiana] that I have written to her twice at Lancaster, as I have not yet heard whether She has actually moved up to Notre Dame.” He had “not even heard if the baby got well of the Cold with which he was suffering at the time I left Atlanta.” His fears for the child were soon confirmed. Receiving letters from Ellen’s father, his brother John and his brother-in-law Hugh Boyle Ewing, and reading an obituary in the New York Herald, he learned that Charles Celestine Sherman died a few days short of six months, and was buried in South Bend. Writing to Ellen the next day, Sherman said he “had hoped that the little fellow would weather the ailment, but it seems he too is lost to us, and gone to join Willy.” Telling Ellen that he had not heard from her since reaching the coast, he speculated that his wife might “be so grieved at [the child’s] death you Cannot write to me.” When at last he heard from her, he responded understandingly of “the deep pain and anguish through which you have passed in the . . . sickness of the little baby I never saw.”¹

In her deep sorrow, Ellen again called upon her husband to accept the Roman Catholic religion. “My greatest comfort,” she declared, “would be to know that you my dear husband were blessed with the faith which sanctified your children.” If Cump should die “without the faith,” he would “leave us miserable the rest of our lives with a weight of sorrow . . . which no worldly influence can dissipate.” How he could live since Willy’s death “without the faith,” she could not conceive, for her own suffering since the boy died had been “more than I could have borne without its consolations.” She also revealed her plans for Tommy, their sole surviving son. Ellen was enrolling him in the Academy at Notre Dame, in the hope that he would someday become a priest.2

Sherman ignored Ellen’s Catholicism plea and indicated that he was concerned about her mental well-being. “I fear somewhat your mind will settle into the ‘Religio Melancholia,’ which be assured is not of divine inspiration, but rather a morbid state not natural or healthful.” Regarding Tommy, he said, “I will risk his being a Priest—of course I should regret such a choice and ask that no influence be let to produce that result.” His respectful request, in view of Ellen’s obsession with Catholicism, conveys a touch of amusement—if the issue were not so serious. Stating unequivocally that he opposed Tommy becoming a priest, Sherman said he “is too young for even the thought.” The General could hardly have been more wrong.³

Ellen was also badgering him again about advancing the military interests of her brothers. She wanted Cump to recommend Charley for promotion to brigadier general. She declared that she would “not . . . take no for an answer,” and claimed that he “owe[d] it to him”; otherwise, Charley’s relationship to Sherman “would be a disadvantage to him.” Sherman refused and patiently explained to his wife that if her brother became a brigadier general “at the expense of Colonels who have commanded Brigades in half a dozen battles,” over a period of two or three years, such a promotion “would be a gross injustice . . . which I cannot commit.” Too, Ellen wanted Sherman to allow Hugh Boyle to rejoin Sherman’s forces. Hugh had left Sherman in the spring of 1864, when he was leading a division, to take command of the District of Louisville.

Sherman told Ellen at the time that Hugh was making a mistake. He said that “so far as the war goes he might as well be in Ohio.” Now Sherman had no command to give him, unless he displaced some competent and loyal general who had been with him for a long time. “I think Hugh made his choice . . . and should content himself as he best may,” Sherman wrote Phil Ewing. “It is only by being just to all present,” Cump explained, “and preferring only the Zealous officer, that I maintain such a hold on my army. I never absent myself an hour, and cannot overlook it in others.” Hugh, however, convinced himself that Sherman had treated him shabbily and quite possibly never forgave him. For that matter, Ellen had a difficult time getting beyond her husband’s “fastidious views,” as she once called his stance about Hugh.4

During the time in Savannah, Sherman learned that a movement was under way in Ohio to recognize and reward him for his military success. Some favored giving him a farm near Cincinnati or a house in the city. Others wanted to collect a large sum of money for him. General Grant, himself a recipient of public favors, hoped to do something in recognition of Sherman’s “great Capacity as a Soldier,” which was demonstrated “by his unequaled campaign through Georgia.” Calling Sherman “one of the greatest purest and best of men,” Grant wrote his father, seeking to get the elder Grant involved in inaugurating a “Subscription to present to Mrs. Sherman a comfortable furnished house” in Cincinnati. Grant observed that Sherman “is poor,” and declared that he “always will be, but he is great and magnanimous.”

Hearing that several prominent Ohioans were engaged in a campaign to raise money for Sherman, Grant wrote the leaders, commending the project and assuring them that history “holds no record of Sherman’s superior, and of but few equals.” The General pledged to give $500. He added that General Rufus Ingalls, his army’s chief quartermaster, was “equally alive . . . to the eminent services of General Sherman,” and would be giving $250 to the fund.⁵

Sherman speculated about the Ohio endeavor in a letter to his brother-in-law Phil Ewing, indicating that he would prefer to receive interest-paying bonds, because he was not a farmer, and a house seemed pointless, for he could not “imagine any contingency of life that would keep me in Cincinnati longer than a day.” He said that he really did not want to accept any tribute, but felt rather compelled to do so, because “Ellen calls for so much money that at times I have nothing ahead.” In the same vein he wrote John Sherman, “I don’t save anything, for Ellen’s expenses have been and are heavy—Mine are comparatively light.” The Ohio campaign eventually resulted in the Cincinnati testimonial committee presenting Sherman with a monetary award of $10,000 in gold. It would not be the only peoples’ gift to the triumphant general.6

Also while still in Savannah, Sherman was troubled to learn of a movement in the U.S. Congress to promote him to lieutenant general, the same rank Grant held. At once Sherman wrote his brother, instructing John to use his influence to stop the bill. “I will accept no commission that would tend to create a rivalry with Grant,” he told John. “I have all the rank I want, and on the score of pay,” declared that “as long as I can Keep out in the woods My family can live on my pay, about $550 a month.” He also wrote Grant, telling the general-in-chief that he had sent word to John to stop the bill. He wanted nothing to disrupt the “perfect understanding” between the two. “I would rather have you in Command than anybody for you are fair, honest, and have at heart the same purpose that Should animate all.” Grant replied in kind, declaring that “no one would be more pleased at your advancement than I” and promising that if he were subordinate to Sherman “it would not change our personal relations in the least.” Seldom in the history of war has a close relationship between top generals equaled that of Sherman and Grant.⁷

As Sherman contemplated marching through the Carolinas, he was pleased to learn that Fort Fisher, which controlled access to Wilmington, North Carolina, had fallen to the forces of General Alfred H. Terry, ably assisted by the navy under Admiral Porter. Earlier, General Benjamin Butler, infamous to Southerners since his occupation of New Orleans, and no favorite among many professionally trained Union generals, had been removed from command after he mucked up an attack on the fort. Since Butler had bragged that he would reduce the strongpoint without wasting soldiers’ lives—which many (Sherman among them) considered to be a studied aspersion aimed at Grant—Butler’s fiasco seemed all the worse. Federal lives indeed had been spared, but Butler failed utterly. Soon after Grant dismissed Butler, General Terry succeeded in capturing the fort.

“The capture of Fort Fisher has a most important bearing on my campaign,” Sherman wrote Grant, “because it gives me another point of security on the sea board.” In journeying across the Carolinas, Sherman could not predict what contingencies might develop. Knowing that Fort Fisher was in Union hands provided additional comfort if unforeseeable difficulties arose. He was also pleased that Terry took the fort “because it silences Butler, who was to you a dangerous man. His address to his troops on being relieved, was a direct, mean & malicious attack on you, and I admire the patience & skill by which you relieved yourself & the Country of him.” Furthermore, Sherman “rejoiced that Terry was not a West Pointer . . . belonged to your army, and . . . had the same troops with which Butler [failed]—Porter is in high glee.”8

Responding to a letter from Porter, Sherman himself was evidently in high spirits about the sacking of General Butler: “I am rejoiced that the current of events has carried Butler to Lowell, [Massachusetts,] where he should have stayed and confined his bellicose operations to the factory girls.” Assuring Porter that his command soon would be moving north from Savannah, the General declared that “the braggart Carolinians will find in our Western boys a different kind of metal.” Sherman’s army was ready for the march and like the soldiers, the General was eager to proceed. “My health is good,” he told his brother, “and Save a little Rheumatism in my right arm during the last march,” Sherman affirmed that “I do not feel any older.” Nearing his forty-fifth birthday, he still possessed his red hair and red beard—“no gray hairs yet.” Knowing, as he wrote Halleck, that “the whole army is crazy to be turned loose in Carolina,” Sherman was primed to get on with the job.⁹

AT THE BEGINNING of February, after several days of delay because of bad weather, the campaign got under way. Again the army was composed of two wings, commanded by Generals Howard and Slocum, and was essentially the same force, 60,000 strong, that had marched from Atlanta to Savannah. Black Jack Logan, who had gone to Illinois after the capture of Atlanta for political campaigning, was present once more, in command of the Fifteenth Corps. General Howard’s right wing, consisting of the Fifteenth and Seventeenth Corps, was basically the Army of the Tennessee, as the Sixteenth Corps had been merged into the Fifteenth and Seventeenth after Logan left Atlanta. Sherman would usually ride with the right wing, alternating between the Seventeenth and the Fifteenth Corps, and more often with the Fifteenth.

Upon departing Savannah, Howard’s wing at first seemed to be marching toward Charleston, while Slocum’s left wing, made up of the Fourteenth and Twentieth Corps, appeared to be trekking toward Augusta. Both movements were feints, intended to puzzle the Confederates about Sherman’s real objective, the South Carolina capital of Columbia. Gradually Howard’s right wing swung to the northwest, drawing closer to Slocum’s columns. Only when both wings appeared to be moving nearer to each other, and advancing in a more northern direction, did it become increasingly evident that Sherman’s forces actually were heading for Columbia.10

For several days the Confederates were confused by Sherman’s deceptive maneuvering. His cunning designs actually were enhanced by the attitude of many Charlestonians, who believed, as Rebel General Hardee wrote Jefferson Davis, “Charleston is the Confederacy, and to save Charleston they are willing that Lee should give up Richmond, or any other section of the Confederacy.” That Sherman would ignore Charleston seemed inconceivable to many of its residents. Also, Sherman’s beguiling movements received assistance from Rebel engineers, who thought it impossible, in the dead of winter, to march across miles and miles of swamps, interspersed with numerous channels of icy water, and traversing immense and dense areas of trees, vines and thickets—which characterized southern South Carolina. They found it hard to believe that Sherman’s forces, campaigning without a supply line, would advance on Columbia.¹¹

Even after the Southerners realized that Sherman was marching toward Columbia, they had only limited forces with which to oppose him. Wade Hampton, who returned from Virginia to help defend his home state, along with William Hardee and Fighting Joe Wheeler, would be leading the Confederate troops, which Sherman believed numbered about 15,000—a reasonably accurate estimate. In overall command was General P. G. T. Beauregard. Sherman knew that their forces “could hardly delay us an hour,” he later wrote. He was somewhat concerned—“the only serious question” as the campaign began—that Lee might elude Grant, slipping away and marching south to intercept his advance, and making junction with the remnants of Hood’s army that had escaped from Tennessee after the Battle of Nashville. If Lee should get away from Grant, Sherman was relying upon his friend to give chase and come up in the rear of Lee’s forces.12

Sherman might face a much greater military challenge in the Carolinas than in the march across Georgia. Consequently he arranged for the navy to provide several points of security along the coast, in the event that a crisis developed. Otherwise he was confident, even if he would be traveling more than four hundred miles. He proceeded with the same arrangement for foraging and marching as during the trek to Savannah. The weather, not surprisingly, proved more severe than during the march to the sea. Heavy rain came down frequently, and the temperature was colder. Thomas W. Osborn, an artillery officer who kept a diary, wrote that “the nights are chilly, in truth very cold, and we require a large amount of clothing to make us comfortable.”¹³

Osborn also noted, on February 2, that General Slocum’s left wing was not advancing at the pace Sherman expected. “General Sherman is in high temper,” wrote the officer, “and orders a halt until the left wing comes up.” Sherman’s “nervous temperament and sarcasm are now at their highest pitch, and all who are acquainted with him keep at a respectful distance.” Osborn declared that it mattered not if one were a major general or a private, one would be wise not to “tamper” with Sherman at such a time. Significantly, Osborn was not being critical of Sherman. Actually his sympathies were with the commander. He feared that Slocum lacked “the ability and energy to cope with what he has on his hands.” In fairness to Slocum, he faced greater problems in crossing the badly flooded Savannah River than did General Howard.¹⁴

Once on the move again, Sherman’s forces soon approached the first of many menacing swamps, some of which were quite wide, and traversed by numerous river channels. Thomas Osborn recorded fascinating details about these obstacles, writing that Whippy Swamp Creek was three-quarters of a mile wide, with seven streams running through it. He said that another swamp was a mile across, “with the water running in thirty five different streams.” Yet another had “sixteen clear and fine running streams, on an average of fifty feet wide and from one to two hundred feet apart.” When he came upon one that was “only a quarter of a mile wide,” he found the river running in nine streams, “and considerably deeper” than most that were crossed. Generally speaking, the swamps varied from knee deep to above a man’s waist. Sometimes Sherman rode through, and sometimes he dismounted and waded along with the soldiers.15

The Confederates burned all the bridges, filled the roads with fallen timbers, skirmished with Sherman’s advance and sometimes fortified the opposite side of a swamp or river, hoping to pick off some of the approaching Federal troops. They always refused a full-scale fight, pulling out when the superior Yankee troops threatened to flank them, if not before. Rumor spread that General Hardee, with 30,000 Rebels, awaited the Union forces on the far side of the Salkehatchie River, determined to make a desperate and bloody stand. It was just that—a rumor.

Obviously Sherman’s pioneer organizations, often composed heavily of blacks, were of immense value, working continuously to construct roads and bridges across the swampy low country. They laid down literally miles and miles of corduroy roads, so that the artillery and supply wagons could advance with the infantry. And many of the infantry found themselves called upon to assist with the hard, heavy, filthy work. Great numbers of trees had to be felled, sheared of limbs and dragged to the passageway where they were laid side by side to form the rough road. Sometimes the mud was so thick and oozy that logs had to be laid on top of one another, several layers thick, before the primitive roadway became passable.¹⁶

It was a week into February when some of Sherman’s troops reached Midway—a tiny town of five houses and a depot—located on the Charleston & Augusta Railroad, about halfway between the two cities. The foraging party, which was about five miles ahead of the oncoming infantry, at once recognized the importance of the railroad. They began throwing up defensive works to hold it until the army could get up, and sent one of their number back to inform the leading infantry division of their prize. General Howard was riding with the Seventeenth Corps and beginning to deploy the lead division in readiness for a possible battle at the railroad, when he saw a man approaching, “and riding as hard as he could.” Drawing near and recognizing Howard, the soldier called out, “Hurry up, General; we have got the railroad!” He promised that the foragers would “hold it against any force until you come up.” Sherman later summarized the amusing situation: “While we, the generals, were proceeding deliberately to prepare for a serious battle, a parcel of our foragers, in search of plunder . . . actually captured the South Carolina Railroad.”17

As soon as the Union troops arrived in strength, they set to work on the rails, giving them a spiral twist so they would have to be melted and run out again, thus thoroughly destroying them for a distance of more than forty miles. Only after the Union troops finished eradicating the rails, and resumed the march toward Columbia, could the Rebels be reasonably sure that Sherman was moving on Columbia and not Augusta.¹⁸

Sherman wrote that the extensive destruction of the Charleston & Augusta Railroad was done “partly to prevent any possibility of its restoration and partly to utilize the time necessary for General Slocum to get up.” Because Sherman hoped to keep up the delusion, as long as possible, that the Union Army might yet turn west, he ordered Judson Kilpatrick to demonstrate strongly with his cavalry in the direction of Augusta. On February 11, with Slocum’s wing finally near, Sherman resumed the march toward Columbia. The path of each corps could be traced by columns of smoke, black and sometimes quite dense, rising from burning houses, barns, business establishments, warehouses, cotton, turpentine mills and fences. Only churches and schoolhouses survived. Sometimes not even those escaped the vengeful torching of the Yankees. “The country behind us is . . . an utter desolation,” declared a Union officer.¹⁹

Joseph T. Glatthaar, in his campaign study, stated that Sherman’s troops burned a dozen towns on their march to Columbia. Sherman acknowledged that he made no particular effort to rein in the troops. An officer on General Slocum’s staff claimed Sherman instructed Slocum that he need not be as careful about private property in South Carolina as in Georgia. The more destroyed the better, said Sherman, for the people of South Carolina were more responsible than anybody else for bringing on the conflict, and “should be made to feel the war.” Sherman understood his army’s emotions, and wrote that “I saw and felt that we would not be able longer to restrain our men as we had done in Georgia.” He also claimed that he did not want the army’s “vigor and energy . . . impaired,” because he expected “bold and strong resistance at the many . . . rivers that lay across our path.” Glatthaar concluded that “only at Orangeburg was there any suggestion that someone other than the Union army had begun the fire, and even then soldiers admitted that their comrades had plundered the town nonetheless.”20

The burning of Orangeburg occurred because, according to George Nichols of Sherman’s staff, the Confederates, preparing to retreat as the Federals approached, torched a large amount of cotton belonging to a Jewish merchant in order to keep it from falling into Sherman’s hands. Ironically, Sherman would have destroyed the cotton anyway. The enraged merchant then burned his own store, apparently expecting the fire, fueled by a high wind, to burn the entire village—which it did. Both the Rebels and the merchant left town as the fire raged. Nichols noted that Sherman and Howard put soldiers to work in a futile attempt to extinguish the flames.²¹

Nichols also provides a compelling example of the disdain with which some Northerners viewed the Southern planter-aristocracy. His diary entry on February 12 states: “Tonight we are encamped upon the place of one of South Carolina’s most high-blooded chivalry—one of those persons who believed himself to have been brought into the world to rule over his fellow-creatures, a sort of Grand Pasha.” Nichols then penned a brief but devastating assessment of the “peculiar institution”: “As near as I can ascertain,” he charged, “it has been the effort of the South Carolina master to degrade his slaves as low in the scale of human nature, and as near the mules and oxen which he owns in common with them, as possible.” He then added that “the evidences of the heartlessness and cruelty of these white men” had caused his “blood to boil.”22

BY MID FEBRUARY, most of Sherman’s forces had waded, slogged, corduroyed, foraged, fought and burned their way to the outskirts of Columbia. South Carolina’s capital, picturesquely situated at the meeting of the Broad and Saluda Rivers, whose waters there formed the Congaree, had a population of less than 10,000 when the war began. The conflict swelled that number to approximately 25,000. Many of the streets were a spacious one hundred feet wide, lined with impressive trees, such as large magnolias, and accented by sizable, expensive homes. Considered one of the safest places in the Confederacy because of its remote site, the Confederate government printed money in Columbia, while bankers in various locations, most notably Charleston, had moved valuable assets there. The three banks of antebellum days had grown to more than fifteen. Columbia’s production of munitions became one of its largest industries, and important railroads served the capital’s transportation needs. Many Southerners who lived in areas perceived as more vulnerable to Yankee intrusion had sent all manner of treasured possessions to Columbia for safekeeping. Even large caches of expensive wines, brought in by blockade runners, had been transported to the city for protection. Then suddenly, Sherman’s forces were drawing near the city.²³

Blacks in Columbia seemed to know, or at least believe, that Sherman was heading for the capital before the whites realized it. Their praises for Sherman were voiced too often for the liking of some whites, who set up a whipping post in the city and severely flogged several of the blacks whom they considered too outspoken. Understandably, such abuse left many blacks bitter and primed for vengeance when Federal forces arrived. Another group ready to wreak violence was Union prisoners of war, who had been brought from Charleston and incarcerated at the state lunatic asylum. When the Rebels, upon the approach of Sherman, moved the prisoners to the railroad depot for transportation elsewhere, a number of them managed to escape. Having been mistreated by their captors—more than one prisoner had been shot for no apparent reason—some of those men were ready to burn South Carolina’s capital to the ground.24

For days, rumors had circulated among Sherman’s troops that Columbia was being strongly fortified, with Rebel forces concentrating there, and even male citizens being conscripted to help man the trenches. Major Confederate leaders were indeed present: P. G. T. Beauregard, Joe Johnston, Wade Hampton and Joe Wheeler. There was, however, no troop concentration achieved. The Confederates, in their determination to protect Charleston and Augusta, had few men for Columbia. After Southern sharpshooters fired at the Federals for a time—which was answered by Union artillery shelling the city—the Rebels soon decided to leave. Sherman was approaching from three directions, with overwhelming numbers, and the railroads from the capital to Charleston and Augusta were already in his hands. Before the Rebels pulled out, all the cotton bales were taken from the storehouses and piled in the main streets. Apparently Joe Wheeler’s cavalry then set the cotton on fire, and they also continued to aggrandize their fearsome reputation for wanton destruction by plundering a number of stores. Some civilians, white and black, joined in the looting. Sherman said that the railroad depot and a large storehouse were also “burned to the ground.” It was a prelude of much worse to come.²⁵

Beauregard, Johnston, Hampton and the Confederate troops abandoned Columbia during the night of February 16 and the early morning of the seventeenth. The city’s mayor, T. J. Goodwyn, accompanied by the aldermen, quickly came out and surrendered the capital to Sherman. Perhaps an hour before noon on the seventeenth, Sherman and his staff, along with General Howard and his staff, were riding through the main streets of the city. Cotton was still burning fiercely in some areas, and Yankee soldiers, along with civilians, worked to extinguish it. Thomas Osborn, who wrote his account of that triumphant day on the very next morning, declared that “the negroes went into demonstrations of delight which I have never before seen equaled. They ran, shouted, yelled, danced, and cut up curlicues generally.”

George Nichols stated that the welcome the African-Americans gave Sherman “was singular and touching. They greeted his arrival with exclamations of unbounded joy.”A great many of them wanted to shake the General’s hand—“which he always gladly gives to these poor people.” He was also met by escaped Union prisoners, who “had been secreted in the town by the negroes.” Nichols said he had never seen Sherman’s “face beam with such exultation . . . as when he took those poor fellows by the hand and welcomed them home—home to the army, to protection, to the arms of their brave comrades.” (Sherman and his soldiers, during the march to the sea, as earlier noted, had been deeply touched by the despicable facilities for Union prisoners in Millen, Georgia.)26

One of the escaped prisoners, S. H. M. Byers of the Fifth Iowa Infantry, handed Sherman a paper to read when he had time. The General soon discovered that while a prisoner, the officer had written a song entitled “Sherman’s March to the Sea,” which a group of the prisoners liked to sing. There were five stanzas, each followed by the chorus, the words of which were:

Then sang we a song of our chieftain,

That echoed over river and lea;

And the stars of our banner shone brighter

When Sherman marched down to the sea!

Sherman was so impressed that he sent for Byers, making him one of his staff officers, and the two men established a relationship that lasted for the remainder of their lives.²⁷

Sherman placed General Howard in charge of Columbia and ordered him to “destroy the public buildings, railroad property, manufacturing and machine shops,” but to “spare libraries, asylums, and private dwellings.” Some of the soldiers decided the occasion warranted celebrating with liquor, of which there was a huge amount available. Doubtless the Northerners would have found the alcohol without assistance, but blacks and even some whites either brought out whiskey in buckets and bottles for the troops or happily guided them to the places where the booze was stored. Sherman observed, as he rode along the streets, “that several of the men were evidently in liquor,” and called the matter to Howard’s attention for appropriate action. The problem, however, considering the soldiers’ mood, and the availability of unlimited alcohol—Sherman said he found 120 caches of whiskey in one cellar alone—only became worse.28

Meanwhile, Mayor Goodwyn directed Sherman to the house of Blanton Duncan, a lawyer who had fled with the Confederates. The mayor proposed that Sherman use the Duncan house as his quarters. The General found it satisfactory and settled in. A little later in the evening, the mayor returned with a message that there was a lady in the city who said she was a friend of Sherman. Inquiring as to her maiden name, Sherman realized the woman was the sister of James Poyas, the young man with whom he frequently hunted when stationed at Fort Moultrie in 1845, and whose family he recalled as “extremely hospitable.” In fact he had been hunting with James Poyas when he suffered an excruciatingly painful injury, as his galloping horse failed to clear a fallen log and crashed violently to the ground, jamming a double-barreled gun into Sherman’s armpit. Quite possibly the rheumatism recently troubling his right arm stemmed from that nasty accident, which had required months to heal.²⁹

Sherman went at once to renew acquaintance with the friend from days long past. He had given her a book about watercolor painting, an art of which both she and he had been quite fond. He soon learned that the volume likely saved her house. Earlier in the day, Union soldiers had appeared, began chasing chickens and ducks in the yard and then entered the lady’s house, evidently bent on taking anything they wanted. She immediately produced the book, inscribed to her by Sherman when he was a lieutenant. Telling the Union officer in charge of the soldiers that she was a friend of his commanding general, she demanded that he stop his men from pillaging. The officer examined the signature, then turned to the others and declared: “Boys . . . that’s Uncle Billy’s writing, for I have seen it before.” He ordered the looting stopped and arranged for guards to protect the place. Sherman said he and the lady had a long visit. He admired how she had handled the menacing situation. When he rode out of Columbia a few days later, he had a hundred pounds of ham and a large quantity of rice delivered to her house.30

Returning to his quarters that night, Sherman lay down to rest, only to notice shortly thereafter a bright light flickering on the wall of his room. It was the startling reflection of fire. The mysterious Biblical writing on the palace wall, “Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin,” which the prophet Daniel interpreted as a signal that the end of King Belshazzar’s reign was imminent, comes readily to mind—as if the flickering reflection upon Sherman’s wall symbolized the fast-approaching fate of Columbia. All the more as high winds had arisen and buffeted the city for hours. Several buildings were on fire, much of the smoldering cotton had been rekindled and the conflagration was spreading. According to some historical accounts, and in the thinking of many Southerners both then and now, Sherman’s savage army burned Columbia to the ground. Joseph Glatthaar wrote: “Just as Sherman’s troops burned a dozen towns en route to Columbia, so they torched the capital.”³¹

Actually the situation seems more complex. Sherman, as previously noted, had ordered that all private dwellings, as well as libraries and asylums, should not be harmed. He personally assured more than one resident that while several public buildings would be destroyed, the homes of citizens would be safe. There is ample evidence that the General, many of his officers and a lot of the troops worked to stop the spread of the fires. At the same time, however, there were Yankees bent on wreaking as much destruction as possible. A number of escaped prisoners of war were equally determined to set fire to all of the city. One of those men later claimed that he alone had torched seventeen houses. Even if he exaggerated, his baneful intentions are clear. A number of blacks joined in as well, plundering and burning. Some soldiers and civilians (including escaped civil prisoners), became intoxicated, which made the scene all the more dangerous. Several men who were dead drunk burned to death. The violent windstorm, frequently gusting with galelike force, whirled flaming debris through the air—some of which Sherman said was carried for five or six blocks—and spread the conflagration over still more of the city.³²

George Nichols, who was with Sherman much of the time, wrote that “the central part of the city, including the main business street, was in flames, while the wind . . . was driving the sparks and cinders in heavy masses over the eastern portion of the city, where the finest residences were situated. These buildings . . . were instantly ignited” and soon “the conflagration was raging in every direction.” The mansion of Wade Hampton was among those that went up in flames. Thomas Osborn reported that Union troops, trying to bring the fires under control, were arresting all men who were on the streets “and very frequently had to use force.” Many were shot. Osborn claimed that “forty of our men were killed in this way.”33

In some public buildings the Confederates “had stored shot, shell, and other ammunition,” according to Nichols, “and when the flames reached these magazines we had the Atlanta experience again.” Explosions sent “huge columns of fire shooting heavenward, the red-hot iron flying here and there.” Sometime between midnight and two or three in the morning, the fierce wind finally subsided and the fire was contained. Otherwise the entire city would have been in ashes. Even so, a great many buildings were destroyed. Sherman said the fire “burned out the very heart of the city, embracing several churches, the old State-house, and the school . . . of the very Sister of Charity who had appealed for my personal protection.” While the high wind prevailed, “it was simply beyond human possibility” to stop the fires from spreading.³⁴

The new statehouse, which was not completely finished, did survive, and a bunch of soldiers enjoyed a merry time there. About forty men gathered in the Senate chamber, organized themselves as the South Carolina legislative body and unanimously “repealed” the state’s ordinance of secession—an ordinance unanimously passed in December 1860. They also “officially” censured John C. Calhoun, hurled inkstands and other objects at a bust of the famous politician and finally adjourned with provision to reconvene at the capital of North Carolina.³⁵

When the army took up the march again on February 20, Thomas Osborn estimated that three-fourths of Columbia had been burned and every railroad into the town destroyed for approximately thirty miles. For the rest of his life, Sherman would be denounced by many Southerners for intentionally and barbarously destroying Atlanta and Columbia. A decade later, for example, the Louisville Courier-Journal, in a ridiculous article, charged that Sherman had supervised the burning of Columbia’s Ursuline Convent, watching with “demonic satisfaction” as the structure went up in flames.36

The truth is that when Sherman first entered the city, the convent’s Lady Superioress (Sherman’s term), who once taught in a school that Minnie attended, sent a message to Sherman appealing for protection. He told Charley Ewing, who was Roman Catholic, to visit and assure Sister Baptista Lynch that there would be no destruction of private property in Columbia. Unfortunately, the convent was located near where the fires started and could not be saved. The next day Sherman visited Sister Baptista, expressing his regret for the loss, and told her to select a suitable place for the young girls. She chose the Methodist Female College and Sherman gave his approval.³⁷

Clearly Sherman never intended to destroy private property in Columbia; neither was he nor anyone else, Union or Confederate, exclusively responsible for the conflagration that wiped out so much of the city. In his official report, Sherman charged responsibility for the fire to Wade Hampton. He strongly disliked (despised may not be too strong a term) Hampton. And Confederates, whether upon the orders of Hampton or Wheeler, or their own initiative, did set fire to cotton bales that contributed to the great fire. However, as just described, many men played a role in the terrible event. Years later, speaking to a crowd of Union veterans, Sherman claimed: “Had I intended to burn Columbia . . . there would have been no concealment about it.” Considering the General’s character, that statement is credible.³⁸

As the army left Columbia, it was followed by a large column of blacks fleeing slavery, whose numbers continued to grow on a daily basis. There were also many white refugees along, some of them Unionist in sentiment, who feared the vengeance of their neighbors. Others sought to escape forced service in the Rebel army, and doubtless all worried about the future if they stayed in the devastated capital. A number of Jews were denied the right to travel with the army, allegedly because they had loaded down the military transportation with their trunks.39

Osborn said that shortly after Sherman’s army headed northeast from Columbia, some Confederate officers were captured, among whom were a principal and a second on their way to fight a duel that apparently, in some manner, involved a lady. David Conyngham, who told of the incident as well, said that “being chivalrous and obliging,” the Federals “made every effort to catch the [other antagonist] in order to let them finish their little affair of honor in our presence, but failed.” Osborn also said that “two of our men were found today (February 22) with their brains beat out, and from all appearances had been captured and then murdered.” During the Georgia campaign some Union soldiers had been murdered after being captured, but on the march from Columbia to North Carolina, such atrocities became much more common.⁴⁰

General Judson Kilpatrick, commanding the Union cavalry, reported to Sherman on February 22 that eighteen of his men had been murdered after they surrendered, their bodies mutilated and marked “Death to all Foragers.” Sherman replied that foraging was clearly within the laws of war; the murder of soldiers who surrendered was not. He instructed Kilpatrick that the enemy’s action “leaves no alternative; you must retaliate man for man. . . . Let it be done at once.” Sherman got still another message from Kilpatrick, saying that the bodies of twenty-one Federal infantrymen had been found in a ravine, stripped of their clothing and their throats cut.⁴¹

Sherman sent a message to Wade Hampton, overall commander of the Confederate cavalry, on the following day: “It is officially reported to me that our foraging parties are murdered after capture and labeled ‘Death to all Foragers.’” Citing two incidents of such atrocities, with the number killed, Sherman said he had ordered a like number of Confederate prisoners killed. “Personally I regret the bitter feelings engendered by this war,” he wrote, and declared, “I merely assert our War Right to Forage,” which he called “a war right as old as history.” Hampton replied a short time later, livid with rage, saying it was the right of every Southern white to kill any Union forager as he would “a wild beast,” and vowing that he would shoot two Yankee soldiers for every Confederate that Sherman’s men killed.42

No one knows how many atrocities were committed as the hatred of each side for the other escalated, but the situation reached its worst during Sherman’s march across northern South Carolina. In early March, he crossed the state line into North Carolina, and told Ellen, “South Carolina has had a visit from the West that will cure her of her pride and boasting.” South Carolina would never forget Sherman’s “visit,” but his assessment, relative to pride and boasting, was overly optimistic. When compelled to face failure, prideful, boastful people are strongly inclined to rationalize and blame others and/or circumstances beyond their control. Sherman also declared that “the importance of this march exceeds that from Atlanta to Savannah.”⁴³

This was true. He proved, as he wrote Secretary of War Stanton, that “no place in the Confederacy was safe” from his army. He had bludgeoned the Southern will to resist the military strength of the United States. He had destroyed any realistic hope of ultimate Confederate success, and the people of the South realized that the Confederate armies could not protect them. The signs of Rebel collapse, material and psychological, were unmistakable and ubiquitous. Even Southern soldiers in the army of Robert E. Lee were impacted—disheartened by the news of Sherman’s relentless forces moving at will, and laying waste at will, first across Georgia, and then through the Carolinas. He had brought the war, in devastating fashion, to the home of secession. His correspondence with various people during the late summer and early fall of 1864, and through his days in Savannah, contains a number of warnings that the war will likely drag on for some time. Once having devastated South Carolina, however, and moving relentlessly through North Carolina, such assertions cease. Sherman realized the conflict was nearly over.⁴⁴

In North Carolina he wrote General Slocum that “it might be well to instruct your brigade commanders that we are now out of South Carolina and that a little moderation may be of political consequence to us in North Carolina.” Sherman knew that a significant number of North Carolinians were Unionists. Others were disillusioned about the Confederacy, and perhaps ready to acknowledge Union supremacy. He instructed General Kilpatrick, “Deal as moderately and fairly by the North Carolinians as possible, and fan the flame of discord already existing between them and their proud cousins of South Carolina. There never was much love between them.”45

Although final victory was drawing near, the situation was still very dangerous for all concerned. In fact, while General Kilpatrick was heading for Fayetteville, North Carolina, he came close to being captured or killed. Small of stature and quite ordinary in appearance, Kilpatrick nevertheless possessed a well-earned reputation for romantic adventures. George Nichols fittingly observed that Kilpatrick’s face “is expressive of determination and daring.” Indulging his passions, even though he knew that Rebel cavalry were in the general vicinity, Kilpatrick spent the night of March 9 in a house with a young woman from Columbia. Fortunately, he was awake in the early morning hours, wearing underclothing and a nightshirt, when he spotted enemy cavalry approaching. Abandoning uniform, pistol, horse and the woman, he dashed for safety, with the house serving to screen him from the view of the oncoming Confederates. Finding a stray horse, as fate smiled upon him, he rode away bareback. His companion, who is said to have been a beautiful woman, was rescued from possible harm by a Rebel cavalryman. He escorted her away from the ensuing turmoil and found a hiding place for her.⁴⁶

While Sherman was marching through the Carolinas, the Confederates were desperately marshaling manpower in the hope of somehow striking a crippling blow against his forces. The remnants of Hood’s defeated army, under the command of Alexander Stewart, arrived to strengthen the troops under Hardee and Hampton, along with other soldiers who were gathered from coastal garrisons. Joe Johnston, upon the advice of General Lee, was restored to command. With a total of no more than 25,000 men of all arms, Johnston faced a near impossible task. Sherman believed the Rebels were too weak and scattered to present any serious threat to his plans.

On March 11, he entered Fayetteville, North Carolina, which had been evacuated by Hardee’s troops as the Union forces drew near. Sherman established his headquarters at the United States arsenal that the Southerners had been using since 1861. Because both Fort Fisher and the port of Wilmington were in Federal hands, Sherman was once more in contact, via the Cape Fear River, with the coast and the U.S. Navy. He took the opportunity, as he informed Grant, “to clean my columns of the vast crowd of refugees and negroes that encumber me. Some I will send down the river in boats & the balance . . . to Wilmington by land under small escort.”47

George Nichols estimated that the total number of refugees who had followed the army since it left Savannah “could not have been less than twenty-five thousand,” of which he said that “a very large proportion are negroes, chiefly women and children.” Reflecting upon the army’s difficulties in marching across the Carolinas, Nichols declared that “the fact of its accomplishment with twenty-five thousand . . . helpless human beings, devouring food and clogging every step onward, will remain one of the marvels of military operations.” Nichols clearly revealed his sympathies for the African-Americans: “God help the poor creatures! They endured suffering and exposure in pursuit of freedom, and . . . have attained that boon at last.”⁴⁸

Notable among the white refugees heading for the coast from Fayetteville was General Kilpatrick’s companion on the night when the Southern cavalry almost caught him. Marie Boozer was her name, and she was accompanied by her mother and younger sister. As Sherman left Fayetteville on March 15, he destroyed the arsenal and several public buildings. George Nichols claimed that private property “has been respected to a degree which is remarkable.” Sherman continued to trek northeastward, riding initially with Slocum’s left wing and advancing toward Goldsboro, from where he would have a railroad available to the coast. At Goldsboro he planned to link up with General Schofield’s Twenty-Third Corps, accompanied by two divisions from the Tenth Corps, under Alfred Terry. Upon the orders of Grant, Schofield had been transported from Tennessee to North Carolina, covering some 1,400 miles by rail and water, and was moving to rendezvous with Sherman at Goldsboro.⁴⁹

When Joe Johnston had been restored to command, he was ordered to concentrate all the Confederate forces available and “drive Sherman back.” He struck on March 19, attacking Sherman’s left wing about twenty-five miles southwest of Goldsboro, at a little place called Bentonville. He hoped to deliver a severe blow against a segment of Sherman’s forces before the rest of his troops could render assistance. Sherman, who at the time was riding with his right wing, specifically the Fifteenth Corps, was taken by surprise, having supposed, as he later told Grant, that “all danger [of a Rebel attack] was passed.” He referred to a sharp fight Slocum had with some 6,500 of Hardee’s troops near a road junction at Averasboro on March 16, after which the Southerners withdrew and joined up with the rest of Johnston’s forces a few miles to the rear.50

Johnston hit one of the Yankee divisions hard at Bentonville, but the Rebels were halted by a Federal counterattack. Johnston then took up a defensive position and hoped that the Federals would make an assault. On March 20, Sherman was at hand, and the rest of his forces were arriving, which gave him nearly a three-to-one advantage in manpower. Perhaps at that point he might have destroyed Johnston’s army, but he chose not to attack. However, on March 21, the aggressive Joseph Mower, commanding the First Division of the Seventeenth Corps, broke through the Confederate left flank, penetrated deeply and threatened Johnston’s only line of retreat. Sherman had a great opportunity to administer a deathblow to Johnston’s forces, but instead ordered Mower to pull back to the line of his corps.⁵¹

“I think I made a mistake there,” Sherman said later, “and should rapidly have followed Mower’s lead with the whole of the right wing, which would have brought on a general battle, and it could not have resulted otherwise than successfully to us, by reason of our vastly superior numbers.” But at the time he had to make the decision, Sherman was not thinking in terms of waging battle. In fact, he told Slocum the day before, “I would rather avoid a general battle if possible.” While he had good reason to believe that his army was significantly greater in strength than Johnston’s, he could not be sure what the difference might be. He wanted first to rendezvous with Schofield if forced to confront the Rebels in a full-scale engagement.52

Actually, the bottom line is that Sherman saw no need for fighting a general battle at this stage of the war anyway. In gaining a great triumph his army would inevitably suffer casualties. Even if the Confederate losses proved significantly more than the Union’s, that would be little consolation if there were no good reason to have fought the battle in the first place. Sherman knew that his marches had devastated great parts of Georgia and the Carolinas, hammering both the ability and the will of the Confederacy to continue prosecuting the war. He had written his father-in-law on the last day of 1864, saying that his army “will march to certain death if I order it, because they know & feel that night & day I labor to the end that not a life shall be lost in vain.” More than ever, when the terrible conflict was so near the end, Sherman wanted to spare the lives of his soldiers as much as he possibly could.⁵³

By nightfall of March 21, Johnston realized that holding his position any longer had become too dangerous, and he withdrew under cover of darkness, retreating in the direction of Raleigh. He concluded about Sherman: “I can do no more than annoy him.” The Battle of Bentonville, the only significant effort to stop Sherman’s march, cost the Confederates nearly 3,500 casualties, with 240 killed. Union losses were about 1,500, of whom 194 were killed.⁵⁴

ENCOUNTERING NO FURTHER opposition, Sherman’s forces triumphantly marched into Goldsboro with flags flying and bands sounding patriotic aires. The junction with Schofield and Terry dramatically signaled the successful climax of the Carolina campaign, for Sherman now had approximately 90,000 troops at hand. He was strong enough to deal with any conceivable Confederate move by Johnston or Lee, even if Lee should manage to escape Grant and join forces with Johnston—a then highly unlikely scenario. The proud general stated: “We had in mid-winter accomplished the whole journey of four hundred and twenty-five miles [from Savannah] in fifty days,” and had reached Goldsboro “with the army in superb order, and the trains almost as fresh as when we started from Atlanta.” He declared that the endeavor was “one of the longest and most important marches ever made by an organized army.”55

While at Goldsboro Sherman devoted a lot of time to writing letters, both official and personal. In a letter to Minnie on March 24, he remarked that the hour was almost midnight, “and I have written nearly thirty long letters, but have a great many more to write.” These letters provide priceless insights to his thinking at the time. “I would like to march this army through New York just as it appears today, with its wagons, pack mules, cattle, niggers and bummers,” he wrote Ellen, “and I think they would make a more attractive show than your fair.” He referred to his wife’s participation in organizing a U.S. Sanitary Commission fair, to be held at Chicago in June, for the relief of soldiers and their families. Ellen had requested that Cump send her anything of value that might be used in raising money. He told her that he had nothing worthwhile to contribute and added, “I don’t much approve of ladies selling things at a table,” but said that he did not object to her helping organize and manage the proceedings. Eventually he did send her the Confederate flag that had flown over the statehouse in Columbia.⁵⁶

As a truly national military hero, Sherman’s name was being frequently alluded to in connection with the presidency of the United States. It was a natural, probably inevitable development, considering that four of the sixteen presidents—Washington, Jackson, Harrison and Taylor—had been generals. Sherman, however, had no interest whatsoever in that exalted office. Responding to a letter from a lawyer in St. Louis, the General indulged his love of hyperbole: “You may tell all that I would rather serve 4 years in the Singsing Penitentiary than in Washington & believe that I could come out a better man. If that ain’t emphatic enough, use strong expressions and I will endorse them.”⁵⁷

Informed that the New York Tribune had recently characterized him as an abolitionist, Sherman seemed delighted to respond that “a nigger as such is a most excellent fellow, but he is not fit to marry, to associate, or vote with me, or mine.” Regarding the right to vote, Sherman replied to Chief Justice Chase, who had reprimanded him about the language he employed in reference to African-Americans. Sherman not only opposed blacks voting, but arrestingly added, “Indeed it appears to me that the right of suffrage in our Country should be rather abridged than enlarged.” Clearly, in Sherman’s judgment, not all white males deserved to vote, either.58

He also got off a letter to Commodore Thomas Turner, who had written to offer his congratulations on the march to Savannah. Thomas was a brother of Henry S. Turner, Sherman’s business associate and close friend before the war. Henry was a Southern sympathizer, whom Sherman had been out of contact with for about two years. He had learned that Henry and his wife lost two sons in the conflict, one serving in the Confederate Army, and the other with the Union forces. In responding to the commodore, Sherman spoke at length of his friendship with Henry, and said that “the loss of his notice . . . has been to me the Source of much pain. I fear he believes all the absurd stories people tell of me.” The letter had the effect for which Sherman no doubt hoped. Thomas Turner contacted Henry, who soon wrote Sherman a good letter, which led to the reestablishment of their warm relationship.⁵⁹

Sherman penned another interesting letter, to the governor of California, Frederick F. Low, who wrote to express the thanks of the people of California for the triumphant campaigns in which Sherman and his forces engaged. Sherman assured Governor Low that every soldier of his army “will feel a new pride when he is assured that far off on the golden coast of the Pacific . . . our fellow citizens have hailed our progress through this land whose inhabitants had well-nigh brought our Government to ruin and infamy.” Closing in rather memorable style, Sherman declared, “I bid you be of good cheer, for there are . . . brave men . . . who are determined that the sun, as he daily reviews our continent from the Chesapeake to San Francisco Bay, shall see a united people, and not a bundle of quarreling factions.”⁶⁰

By March 26, Sherman laid aside his pen. Repairs on the railroad from Goldsboro to New Bern were finished, the army would soon be fully resupplied by rail, and he could head for City Point, Virginia, to confer with Grant in person. Leaving Schofield temporarily in command of the troops, Sherman took along two staff officers, and rapidly made his way to meet with the general-in-chief on March 27 and 28. Brigadier General Horace Porter, an 1860 West Point graduate, who had been on Grant’s staff for the past year, said that when the steamer transporting Sherman up the James River docked, “Sherman . . . jumped ashore and was hurrying forward with long strides to meet his chief.” Greeting each other enthusiastically, Sherman and Grant stood “with their hands locked in a cordial grasp, uttering earnest words of familiar greeting.” Proceeding to Grant’s headquarters, Sherman received a hearty welcome from Julia Grant as well. He took a seat close to the fire and, with Grant and his wife and several officers listening, “gave a most graphic description of the stirring events of his march through Georgia.”61

Porter assessed the presentation as “the more charming from the fact that it was related without the manifestation of the slightest egotism.” He declared, “Never were listeners more enthusiastic; never was a speaker more eloquent. The story, told as he alone could tell it, was a grand epic related with Homeric power.” Eventually, after about an hour, Grant interrupted, telling Sherman that President Lincoln was at hand, aboard the River Queen, “and I know he will be anxious to see you.” Grant suggested that they visit the President before dinner, to which Sherman readily agreed. Lincoln greeted Sherman graciously and enthusiastically, obviously very pleased to see him. “He was full of curiosity,” remembered Sherman, “about the many incidents of our great march, which had reached him officially and through the newspapers, and seemed to enjoy very much the more ludicrous parts.” The President was rather worried about the army in Sherman’s absence, but the General assured him that Schofield was fully capable of managing any problem that might arise. With plans made to visit with Lincoln again the next day, the generals returned to Grant’s headquarters and sat down to discuss military plans.⁶²

“‘Perhaps you don’t want me here listening to all your secrets,’ remarked Mrs. Grant,” according to Porter’s account. Sherman, who was obviously enjoying himself, glanced at Julia and asked Grant if he really thought they could trust her. When Grant immediately expressed doubt, Sherman turned his chair toward Mrs. Grant. Declaring that he had some questions for her, he claimed that her answers would determine whether or not she could understand their plans well enough to betray them to the Rebels. Assuming a grave tone, Sherman proceeded in “a manner which became more and more amusing,” wrote Porter, asking her “all sorts of geographical questions about the Carolinas and Virginia.” At once entering into the spirit of the occasion, Julia replied with answers indicating little or no knowledge of rivers, mountains, etc. (Actually, having studied the maps at her husband’s headquarters, Julia Grant possessed a good geographical knowledge of the war theaters.) “In a short time,” continued Porter, “Sherman turned to his chief, who had been greatly amused . . . and exclaimed, ‘Well, Grant, I think we can trust her.’” The generals proceeded with their conversation.63

The next morning, Admiral Porter arrived at Grant’s headquarters, and he and Sherman visited for a time. Particularly, Porter wanted to know about the swamps and overflowing rivers that had confronted Sherman in the Carolinas. The two also reminisced about the swamps they contended with in Mississippi. After a conversation of a quarter of an hour or so, Sherman and Porter accompanied Grant to President Lincoln’s ship. No one else was present as the four men met in the upper salon of the River Queen. “After the general compliments,” wrote Sherman, “Grant inquired after Mrs. Lincoln.”⁶⁴

Grant’s wife, when Sherman and Grant returned from seeing the President the previous day, was disturbed to learn that neither general had asked about Lincoln’s wife. The omission was a faux pas, a serious one in Julia Grant’s estimation, and Grant intended to rectify the miscue at the first opportunity. In response to Grant’s query, the President went to his wife’s room, returned “and begged us to excuse her,” recalled Sherman, “for she was not well.” Probably Mary Lincoln was still upset by the rough ride that she and Julia Grant experienced in an army ambulance shortly after she first arrived at City Point—as well as what followed.

Lincoln, Grant and several officers had ridden ahead on horseback, so as not to be late for a scheduled review of troops, while the two women, accompanied by Horace Porter, made their way over a corduroyed road. At one point Mrs. Lincoln was lifted off her seat, and the jolt jammed her head against the top of the wagon. She then insisted on getting out and walking, but Porter, observing that the mud was knee deep, convinced her that such a course would be worse than the ambulance. Mary at last reached the parade grounds, presumably in a foul mood, to find not only that the review was under way but—far worse in her mind—that the wife of General E. O. C. Ord, who was an attractive woman, was riding beside the President in the place that she would have occupied. Mary mounted a distressing, vile tirade against Mrs. Ord, and continued to manifest her anger at dinner later that evening. She likely was still agitated when the President told Grant, on the morning of the conference, that Mrs. Lincoln was not well. Little wonder too that Julia Grant had wanted her husband to ask about the well-being of Mary Lincoln.65

Proceeding with the meeting, the President and the three military men engaged in an informal discussion of the issues facing the nation as the war neared its conclusion. Grant told the President that he planned to move at once around the Rebel flank and cut Lee’s army off from the Carolinas. If Lee should move first, Grant promised to be in hot pursuit, while Sherman assured the President, according to Horace Porter’s account, that “in such a contingency his army, by acting on the defensive, could resist both Johnston and Lee until Grant could reach him.” The Rebels then “would be caught in a vise,” from which no escape would be possible. Lincoln seemed deeply concerned about the possibility of another bloody battle and hoped that such might somehow be avoided. Grant and Sherman realized, of course, that the issue was not in their hands—as no doubt Lincoln himself was fully aware.⁶⁶

Sherman wanted to know what, once the war ended, was to be done with the Rebel armies and their political leaders. Lincoln was strongly inclined toward a lenient policy. He wanted, in Sherman’s words, “to get the men composing the Confederate armies back to their homes, at work on their farms and in their shops.” He had no desire for retaliation. “Let them have their horses to plow with, and, if you like, their guns to shoot crows with.” In the President’s second inaugural address, he had spoken of “malice toward none,” and “charity for all.” Sherman later recalled those words, and said Lincoln seemed to him the very embodiment of a benevolent spirit, as he spoke of how he hoped to deal with the defeated South.67

As for the fate of the Confederate political leaders, Horace Porter recorded that the President “intimated, though he did not say so in express terms, that it would relieve the situation if they should escape to some foreign country.” Lincoln, understandably, was not about to say such a thing in public, but it was clear that, unlike a lot of people in the North, he did not intend or desire revenge against Jefferson Davis and the others. The President again expressed apprehension about Sherman’s being away from his army. Once more Sherman assured him that Schofield could cope with any situation that might occur. Sherman added that he was starting back to Goldsboro right after noon. When he left Lincoln, whom he would never see again, Sherman wrote in his memoirs that he “was more than ever impressed by his kindly nature,” and he declared that, “of all the men I ever met,” Lincoln “seemed to possess more of the elements of greatness, combined with goodness, than any other.”⁶⁸

John Sherman had come down from Washington, and he accompanied his brother back to Goldsboro for a short visit. The two discussed family matters as well as affairs in the nation’s capital. Sherman remained in an exuberant mood as he reflected upon his success. “The last march from Savannah to Goldsboro,” he wrote Ellen, “is by far the most important in Conception and Execution of any act of my life.” He rejoiced as he continued to receive “the highest compliments from all quarters.” Grant was “the same enthusiastic friend. Mr. Lincoln . . . was lavish in his good wishes, and since Mr. Stanton visited me at Savannah, he too has become the warmest possible friend.” (Within a month Sherman surely rued such a thought about Stanton.) Continuing to revel in his most recent triumph, the General spoke of his deceased son, by then a year and a half in the grave: “Oh, that Willy could hear & see—his proud little heart would swell to overflowing.”⁶⁹

Thinking of Minnie and Lizzie, Sherman vowed again—“if I live”—to certainly “redeem my promise to Minnie to send her, and Lizzie too, to the best school I can find in New York next year.” He assured Ellen that he had recently written to both Minnie and Lizzie, promising to get off a letter to Tommy soon as well. John Sherman was advising that Ohio’s contribution in honor of Cump’s military successes should be used to secure a homestead for Ellen. John had indicated that Ellen preferred that the money be used for that purpose. The General thought it better to wait until the war is over, “and determines my fate,” before making a decision about a homestead. “Still,” he told his wife, “if you want a home in Cincinnati, I shall not object.”70

Sherman had to get on with the war. Preparing to take the offensive against Johnston’s forces, he wrote Thomas Ewing Sr. that again he would be trusting to maneuver, “which wins better than rough fighting.” The conflict was finally and rapidly drawing to a close. South of Petersburg, Virginia, Grant, with overwhelming numbers at his command, was extending the Federal lines farther to the west, compelling the inferior Rebels to stretch out and weaken their defenses. At some point, and soon, Grant would either break through the thin Confederate line or turn Lee’s right flank and cut off any possibility of escape. At nightfall on Sunday, April 2, General Lee pulled his troops out of the doomed Petersburg fortifications and tramped westward, with the soldiers spread out on several roads as they headed toward Amelia Court House. There Lee hoped to find badly needed supplies. Grant pursued on a more or less parallel route to the south, aiming to block Lee’s path and compel him to fight at a great disadvantage or surrender. Federal forces quickly moved into both Richmond and Petersburg.⁷¹

When Sherman heard this news, he wrote Grant that he was “delighted and amazed at the result of your move to the south of Petersburg.” He declared that Grant’s “perseverance and pluck . . . would make Wellington jump out of his coffin.” Meanwhile, General Lee had reached a dead end. With no supplies available at Amelia Court House and superior Union forces marshaling to both the east and west, Lee surrendered the Army of Northern Virginia to Grant at Appomattox Court House on April 9. Five days later, Joe Johnston asked Sherman for an armistice. April 14 was also the day that actor John Wilkes Booth fatally shot President Lincoln at Ford’s Theater, as the President watched a presentation of Our American Cousin. The assassination of Lincoln was an event, in the words of historians E. B. Long and Barbara Long, that “will remain vivid as long as the history of the United States is known.”72