Chapter Twenty-Six   

GENERAL-IN-CHIEF, I

When Grant ascended to the presidency in March 1869, Sherman succeeded him as general-in-chief of the army. Promoted to full general, he received a substantial pay increase, raising his annual salary to nearly $19,000. Yet he had been worried, and with good reason, that the high cost of living in Washington, coupled with the social obligations of the army’s top general, would render the position financially intolerable. Sherman had been attempting, since soon after Grant was elected, to sell land in San Francisco and Leavenworth. The California property had been bought for Lizzie—with Ellen’s money, which had been provided by her father. The Leavenworth holdings were also attained through Mr. Ewing. Ellen’s letters to her father during the winter of 1869 clearly indicate that because of the money issue, the relationship between Ellen and Sherman had become severely strained.¹

“Cump worried me dreadfully” about selling Lizzie’s property, she wrote. “Weary of his complaints & sarcasm,” although not in agreement with her husband, Ellen “was finally glad to sell for $2500,” but she believed the land could have brought twice that much. Also, the religious issue continued to rankle. Ellen felt she was treated as “the subordinate of the General, who has consented to tolerate my religion provided I do not presume to express my devotion to it.” She hoped that she might “have the consolation of spending much time” with her father. Ellen then declared, “I feel so totally estranged from Cump, and we are so out of sympathy with one another, & with each others friends, that life with them is a burden.” She assured her father that “this is no feeling of impulse . . . but a settled conviction of mind and purpose.”²

One of Sherman’s major financial concerns in moving to Washington was where to live. Securing a suitable house loomed as his greatest expense. Fortunately, a number of wealthy New Yorkers and Bostonians, including Hamilton Fish, who would soon become Grant’s secretary of state, raised $65,000 and offered to buy Grant’s mansion, since he would be moving into the White House, and award it to Sherman. When Sherman learned about the project he was quite pleased, and told his brother that the fine house “would suit me to a T, and more especially would it suit Ellen and the family, who want a big house.” While the gift home did resolve the immediate question of where to live, the cost of maintaining such an expensive house would quickly become yet another aggravation.³

Despite his dislike of the nation’s capital, Sherman entered upon his new duties optimistically. He intended, with Grant’s help, to resolve a long-standing problem in the administration of the army, one that he and Grant had discussed both during the war and after Grant’s election. The heart of the issue was the prerogative of the secretary of war and the army’s commanding general. Sherman, and apparently Grant too, planned to curtail what Sherman considered an abuse of power by the secretary of war, an abuse that was detrimental to the well-being of the army. Grant acted quickly following his inauguration, issuing General Orders No. 11, on March 5, requiring that all orders from the secretary of war to the army must be issued through the general-in-chief, and placing all the army departments and bureaus under his direct control. No longer would the secretary of war be able to go over the head of the army’s general-in-chief. It meant that Sherman would not have to struggle with a politician for control of the U. S. Army.⁴

But Sherman’s triumph, to his surprise and amazement, did not last for even a month. Grant’s new secretary of war, John A. Rawlins, the President’s former military chief of staff, with whom he was very close, convinced the President that the reforms gave Sherman too much power. He persuaded Grant to rescind his order. Sherman strongly challenged the President’s change of policy, both in writing and in person; however, Grant expressed doubt that the reforms were legal, which he said troubled Rawlins greatly. The President also cited Rawlins’s poor health (he was dying of tuberculosis), explaining that he did not want to worry the man during his last days. Sherman contended that the legal issue had already been taken into account, and while he sympathized with Rawlins, his health should not be a determining factor. But Grant stood firm. The conversation grew a bit testy, and when Sherman left, the relationship between the two had been taxed. Never again would Sherman feel close to Grant as he did during the war.5

Rawlins deteriorated rapidly, and he died in September 1869. The President consulted Sherman about a successor, and one of the men Sherman suggested was William W. Belknap, whom Grant then tapped for the position. Belknap had served as a division commander under Sherman during the war, and the General probably anticipated a good relationship with him. However, Sherman soon realized that Belknap was an aggressive power seeker, and much more of a problem than Rawlins had been. While John Rawlins usually sent orders to the army through Sherman, Belknap made a practice of bypassing the general-in-chief, as well as expanding his authority into areas previously considered the responsibility of the General, such as Indian affairs and West Point. “All the old abuses,” wrote Sherman, “which had embittered the life of General Scott in the days of Secretaries of War [William L.] Marcy and [Jefferson] Davis, were renewed.” Belknap was making a determined effort to take full control of the army. The situation was going from bad to worse—Colonel Audenried, for example, requested that Sherman not send him to Belknap again, because the secretary of war had “treated him with a rudeness and discourtesy he had never seen displayed by any officer to a soldier.” Sherman appealed to Grant, but the President merely passed off the issue with some consoling but meaningless rhetoric.⁶

Another of Sherman’s wartime subordinates arose against him in the winter of 1870. John Logan, who had become chairman of the House Military Affairs Committee, determined to have revenge on Sherman for not naming him to permanently command the Army of the Tennessee when General James McPherson was killed in the fighting for Atlanta. Black Jack Logan also nourished a deep-seated bias against West Point officers in general—all the more once Sherman had selected Oliver Howard, an academy graduate, to replace McPherson. Logan still did not know that General George Thomas had strongly urged Sherman not to appoint Logan, and possibly was decisive in influencing Sherman’s decision.

The powerful Illinois congressman introduced a bill, which was soon passed, to cut the pay of the army’s general-in-chief by approximately one-third, to reduce the number of officers in the army, as well as the salary of those who remained, and to eliminate the ranks of general and lieutenant general upon the death of Sherman and Phil Sheridan. Since taking command of the Division of the Missouri when Sherman became general-in-chief, Sheridan had held the rank of lieutenant general. His pay, like Sherman’s, was to be slashed by about a third. When Logan’s bill passed, it had been modified a bit, but still hit Sherman hard, especially financially. The General was enraged, hardly able to mention the bill without uttering an oath or two, all the more because he knew that Logan was not yet satisfied. Black Jack wanted more cuts in the size of the army, and he had a near vendetta attitude about West Point, the well-being of which always concerned Sherman deeply. Logan seemed to think that volunteers and state militia could deal with whatever military problems arose, and Sherman worried that Logan, a formidable foe, might even attempt a fatal blow against both the regular army and West Point.7

By the spring of 1871, Sherman had grown quite frustrated with his position as general-in-chief. To a great degree, Secretary of War Belknap had secured control of the army, and he consulted Sherman only spasmodically. Congress had drastically cut his pay, reduced the salary of all officers and further whittled down the size of the army. His influence with Grant seemed minimal, and “the elephant,” as he remarked to Ord, of an overly expensive house, was weighing him down. Sherman wanted to return to St. Louis, remembering how a disgruntled Winfield Scott had moved his headquarters to New York City. Grant, however, made it clear that he wanted Sherman to remain in Washington. Thus, because he was strapped for money, Sherman was forced to live in one part of his house, and rent the other. As so often when the General was troubled, his mind turned to the great West.8

Reports seemed to indicate that violent intrusions upon white settlers by restless Indians might be on the rise, particularly in the Southwest. Sherman therefore had a reason, or at least an excuse, to get away from Washington and make an inspection tour of several army posts in west Texas and points northward. He decided to swing through Louisiana on the way to Texas and visit the Louisiana Military Academy, “whose professors and students,” he told Ellen, “somehow regard me as still connected with them.” He also stopped in New Orleans, where he was well received, as he had been at the military academy, and made a short speech. Its impact was remarkable. Basically, Sherman claimed that Northern reports of Southern outrages against blacks were exaggerations. He disliked the U.S. Army’s being involved in Reconstruction and thought that Southern problems could best be resolved by Southerners. The speech was prominently reported with approval in Southern papers, which is hardly surprising, and some Southerners suggested that the General should run for president.⁹

Then it was on to Texas. By late April 1871, Sherman arrived in San Antonio and prepared for a trip, hundreds of miles long, northward through Native American country. Moving out on May 2, he was accompanied by Inspector General Randolph B. Marcy, a couple of staff members and a small escort of black soldiers from the Tenth Cavalry—buffalo soldiers, as the Indians called them, because of their color. Sherman’s route generally followed a line of military installations, and for about 400 miles, although there was evidence of destruction carried out by raiding parties, he never saw an Indian.

Nevertheless, he would soon confront the most dangerous situation that he ever faced while in Indian territory. Unknown to Sherman, as he neared the northern boundary of Texas at the Red River, a band of Kiowas, along with some Comanches, was atop a hill watching his small group pass. A number of notable warriors, such as Satanta, Satank and Big Tree, were among them. They chose not to attack, however, for Mamanti, the leader who had envisioned their raid, assured them that a greater prize would follow. As he had prophesied, a train of ten freight wagons appeared within a few hours. The Indians struck, killing seven teamsters. A few men escaped because the Indians fell to plundering the wagons. Hoping to find rifles and ammunition, but discovering little except corn, they took the mules and rode north to recross the Red River into Indian territory.

When Sherman learned of the attack, he ordered troops to the site, but the trail had grown cold. Five days later, he arrived at Fort Sill, some forty miles north of the Texas border, which was commanded by Benjamin Grierson, the cavalry commander who led the famous diversionary raid through Mississippi during the Vicksburg campaign. Shortly after Sherman reached Fort Sill, several Indian chiefs came in to draw their weekly rations, and the Indian agent Lawrie Tatum, whom the Indians called “Bald Head,” inquired whether they knew anything about the ambush of the wagon train. Immediately Satanta claimed the honor of leading the raid. Actually, Mamanti was the leader, and why Satanta lied about it has been a subject of speculation ever since. Satanta also rebuked Tatum for the way the Indians were being treated, especially the fact that they had not received the arms and ammunition which they had requested. Tatum replied that he had no authority to issue weapons, but said that the great General Sherman was visiting Fort Sill, and the chiefs could ask him for arms and ammunition if they wished.

Upon learning that Satanta claimed he had led the raid, Sherman determined to meet with the Indians and arrest Satanta, along with Big Tree and Satank. On May 27, Sherman and Grierson, standing on the porch of Grierson’s headquarters, received the chiefs. Wasting no time, Sherman denounced the Indians as murderers and stated that he was arresting the three named. At Sherman’s signal, the shutters of the porch windows were opened, and about a dozen black troopers leveled their carbines at the Indians. Kicking Bird, another Kiowa chief, reportedly exclaimed at Sherman: “You have asked for these men to kill them. . . . You and I are going to die right here.” About the same time, a number of black cavalry took positions along a fence facing the porch, with weapons ready for action.

The tense, dramatic situation quickly escalated. Another Kiowa, Lone Wolf, rode up, dismounted and strode toward the porch, carrying two repeating carbines. Reaching the porch steps, he handed a pistol to a chief, and one of the carbines to another, after which he sat down on the floor and stared at Sherman. Some remembered that Lone Wolf cocked his carbine, although Sherman said he did not see it. There was also a report that, in addition to the carbines, Lone Wolf gave a bow and arrows to yet another chief. A gunfight seemed ready to erupt at any second, with Sherman right in the middle of it. Exactly what occurred next is rather murky. According to one account, Benjamin Grierson suddenly seized Lone Wolf’s carbine and ordered, through an interpreter, for the Indians to surrender, which they did. Another version credits Satanta, who was recognized as the most important of the chiefs, with throwing up his hands, and stopping the impending fight. However, precisely, the confrontation was resolved, a shoot-out was avoided, and Sherman had won a war of nerves.10

Satanta, Big Tree and Satank were clamped in irons and sent off to Texas for trial. Under cover of a blanket, Satank managed to wrench free from the manacles, ripping flesh from his hands as he did so. With a knife concealed in his clothing, he stabbed the nearest guard, threw him from the wagon and grabbed a carbine from another guard, only to be shot and killed in his effort to escape. Satank’s body was left beside the road. Sherman thought that “hanging would have been better, but we can be content that he is now extinct.” Satanta and Big Tree were tried for murder in Jacksboro, Texas, where the jury of ranchers and cowboys quickly found them guilty. They were sentenced to be hanged. But a national outcry proclaiming that the chiefs had not received a fair trial was so great—and the fear of the Kiowas going to war if they were executed so widespread—that Texas Governor E. J. Davis commuted their sentence to life in prison. After serving two years, and essentially becoming martyrs in the eyes of many humanitarians, the governor, under pressure from Washington, released them.¹¹

Sherman bitterly denounced their release, warning that “no life from Kansas to the Rio Grande” would be safe. He even stated that when the two chiefs led another raid, which he declared was sure to happen, he hoped Governor Davis would be the first white they scalped—obviously, a thought better left unspoken. The governor kept his scalp, although Sherman was right about the raids soon beginning again. The Fort Sill confrontation and its aftermath proved to be a watershed in Sherman’s toleration of Native Americans. His attitude toward them became more harsh, more vindictive, particularly toward the Kiowas and the Comanches. “If I ever come to Fort Sill [again],” he wrote, “and any of those Indians come about bragging of killing people in Texas, I won’t bother their courts,” he proclaimed. Instead, he promised to “have their graves dug at once.” He made it very clear to Phil Sheridan, commanding the Division of the Missouri, who viewed Indians much as Sherman did and hardly needed any encouragement, that he wanted to implement a more aggressive policy in dealing with them. Any warriors discovered off the reservations were to be attacked, and forced back to their designated territory.12

WHEN SHERMAN GOT BACK to Washington, his relationship with Secretary of War Belknap was no better than when he left—not that he expected it to be. Sherman seized the chance to make a long desired tour of Europe. While preparing for the trip, which was expected to take well over half a year, his father-in-law died, on October 26, 1871. Two years earlier, the elder Ewing had fainted while addressing the Supreme Court, and he had struggled with failing health ever since. Because Thomas Ewing was only two months short of eighty-two, his death came as no great surprise. For many years Sherman had experienced ambiguous feelings about the foster father who then became his father-in-law. He admired Ewing’s abilities and successes and acknowledged that he himself had benefited from his associations with the man. On the other hand, Ewing had tried to influence, and even determine, the course of Sherman’s life. He sought also to keep Ellen close at hand, and she generally seemed quite willing to comply. Probably even more troubling to Sherman, he had long observed that his wife had more respect for and confidence in her father’s judgments and opinions, about most matters, than she did her husband’s.

Ironically, Mr. Ewing in death had an impact on Sherman that he never had in life. On his deathbed, Ewing accepted Catholicism. Although Ellen still said that “the brightness has gone out of everything,” she could better accept her father’s passing, believing that eternal salvation of his immortal soul had been secured. And more than ever, Ellen was emboldened in her efforts to persuade Cump to accept the faith. She hoped her father’s example might influence her husband. She seemed never to understand the depth of Sherman’s opposition to Catholicism. If the General believed in some kind of a higher power—which is debatable—he did not accept the God of Catholicism, or the God of any brand of Protestantism. Ellen’s renewed campaign to convert him only irritated. The religious breach between husband and wife grew worse.13

In mid-November, Sherman sailed for Europe aboard the Wabash, a warship commanded by Rear Admiral James Alden, recently promoted to lead the U.S. Navy squadron operating in the Mediterranean Sea. Alden had invited Sherman to join him for the crossing, as far as Gibraltar. The General took up a forward position on the main deck, relishing the sensation of the vessel rising and falling as she moved out to sea. He was accompanied by one of his favorite aides, Colonel Joseph Audenried, and Lieutenant Fred Grant, the President’s son, whom Grant requested Sherman take with him. Sherman thought the Wabash “a splendid vessel . . . strong, safe and perfectly manned.” He enjoyed the voyage. “I have not been sea sick of course,” he wrote Ellen, commenting that “Audenried & Fred [had] been let off easy, [with] Neptune claiming but little of their time.”¹⁴

While Sherman observed that “the ship sails well,” he also noted that “her steam power is merely auxiliary and cannot be depended upon when the wind opposes.” That fact was soon demonstrated as they approached Gibraltar, facing gale-force winds, which compelled them to head for the Spanish seaport of Cádiz instead, where they landed on December 14. There Sherman began his tour, which lasted nearly ten months, traveling by train, steamboat and carriage through a dozen or more countries. Viewed everywhere as a renowned military figure, he would be received by royalty, army commanders and the wealthy. There was no need to request attention; Europeans, having followed the Civil War, knew his reputation and sought his company.15

Sherman was pleased to visit Cádiz, although he did not want to miss Gibraltar and arranged to spend a few days in the British colony, including Christmas. The United Kingdom had a fleet of six ironclads at anchor, and the commander conducted Sherman through his own ship, as well as another vessel, which the General thought was probably “the strongest ship now afloat.” But Gibraltar proved to be an unpleasant visit physically. “I have been quite asthmatic with a good deal of cough,” he informed Ellen on December 28, “and find the rooms cheerless & cold.” Very few families, although coal from England was abundant, had “even fires in their sitting rooms, [and] none in bed rooms at all, though it is quite cold.”¹⁶

Taking a steamboat to Málaga, Spain, he proceeded northward to visit Granada, Sevilla, Córdoba, Toledo and Madrid. Perturbed by an American girl who “rode in the car with me through the most interesting part of Spain,” Sherman said that she “read a paper-back novel all the way.” Realizing how much that young woman was missing, he told Ellen, who undoubtedly already knew the fact: “I never go to a place but I know all about it, its topography, geography and history.” The last statement was no idle boast. Before leaving the United States, he had read a number of books pertaining to Europe, and throughout his journey, continued to learn all he could about every place he went. Evidently, judging from the length and detail of description that he wrote Ellen, Sherman was really fascinated by Córdoba; although, like Spain generally, he found the city quite cold. He remarked that he was “glad that he did not attempt to bring Minnie,” because he knew “she would have actually suffered for a fire, which is something hardly comprehended . . . anywhere in Spain.”¹⁷

By the time Sherman reached Madrid, he was convinced that historical figures of major significance were ignored throughout Spain. He thought Mark Twain had it right: “You can see thousands of Saints sculptured and pictured, but no plain mortal who has done some act of historic merit, like Columbus.” He declared to Ellen that “Cortes & Pizzaro [sic] are unknown in the land of their origin, while saints by the million are as cheap as dirt.” Immediately he added, “I do not say this to hurt your feelings, but it is holy truth,” and he believed that everybody would corroborate what he said.18

After passing through Saragossa and Barcelona, Sherman traveled along the French Riviera, and thence into Italy for an extended visit. He met Pope Pius IX, famous for proclaiming the “immaculate conception” of the Virgin Mary, as well as presiding over the Vatican Council of 1870, which affirmed the doctrine of papal infallibility whenever the pontiff speaks ex cathedra regarding faith or morals. If Sherman knew of these events, so momentous for faithful Catholics, he would hardly have been impressed. In Rome he watched the Pope as “plenty of Cardinals . . . kissed his hands and foot.” When Pius was informed that “the illustrious General Sherman” was present, according to Sherman’s account to Henry Turner, the Pope stopped, greeted him and Colonel Audenreid (Fred Grant was sick at the time), and invited them to accompany him as he welcomed the visitors of the morning. A number of American ladies were present, carrying rosaries and tokens, observed Sherman, “for this old man’s blessing; and when the Pope was through, he turned and blessed us.” Sherman took particular notice in Rome of the many nude statues and paintings, and wrote Ellen that “in stairway niches, on chandeliers, and over the mantles are figures, mostly female, as naked as Eve before the fall.” He said that he found them “very beautiful,” but was not about to “invest in any of them,” because he knew, even though they were “sanctioned by the Pope himself,” that Ellen surely “would consign them to the garret, or some worse place.”¹⁹

While in Naples, Sherman dined one evening with “a Grand Dutchess Olga of Russia,” who after dinner “brought in her pretty children.” Sherman wrote Turner that he “picked up a pretty two-year-old boy, and kissed him as I would one of yours.” From the stares he received, the General realized that such was not customary. “But the Grand Dutchess is a lady,” he continued. She spoke English, read American books, “even Mark Twain, and really felt complimented at the Barbarian’s notice of her fine chubby boy.” Audenried, who kept valuable notes on the trip, told of going on an excursion to Pompeii, where a special excavation was conducted for Sherman to observe. Then they ascended Mt. Vesuvius, all of which made for a very tiring day. But Sherman usually held his own, or better. Audenried recorded that while in Egypt, when they climbed the Great Pyramid of Cheops, Sherman seemed to recover more quickly than either he or the much younger Grant.20

It was in Egypt that Sherman visited with the American officer Henry Stone, whom he found “installed as a sort of Adjutant General to the Egyptian army.” In fact, he discovered an unusually large number of American military officers, seventeen in all, employed in Egypt, some from the North and some from the South. “All seemed equally glad to see me,” Sherman told Turner. They passed some time reminiscing about “the terrible civil war,” which had begun exactly ten years earlier.

Moving on to Constantinople, which he assessed as “probably the best sight [sic] for a great city in the world,” he was particularly struck by its cosmopolitanism, possibly “the most heterogeneous people on the face of the globe.” But while there, Sherman encountered, “much to my disgust,” a newspaper correspondent, about whom he raged to Turner that if that man “is to travel with us,” listening and reporting “our conversations . . . to the world,” he would simply “go through Russia like a rocket, and accept no invitations.” Fortunately Sherman was spared such a fate, and very much enjoyed his time in Russia, where he was received by, among others, Tsar Alexander II.²¹

Indeed, Sherman was well received everywhere, with the single exception of Germany. The Grant administration had allowed the French to buy arms and ammunition worth millions of dollars while they were fighting the recent Franco-Prussian War. The victorious German emperor, still angered by the United States aid to France, showed no enthusiasm for the prospect of meeting Sherman. As soon as Sherman realized the situation, he left Berlin, heading for Austria, where he enjoyed a good visit in Vienna. Then it was on to Paris, where the General spent most of July, staying at the Grand Hotel, and having a wonderful time. Last on his agenda came the British Isles. He had received a message from Ellen, urging him to call on the Catholic archbishop when he reached England. Cump refused, contending that if he did so, without also visiting the Anglican authorities, it would be “whispered & printed that [he was] a Catholic.” Sherman surely did not wish to be identified by the English press as a Catholic (which always irritated him wherever it occurred), and had no interest anyway in spending time with either Anglican or Catholic archbishops.22

By mid-September 1872, the General had returned to the United States. “Since I got back home,” he wrote Turner, “I have had one of those severe attacks of asthma, that reminds me occasionally that I am mortal, but I think the newspapers exaggerate the severity.” The situation at the War Department was unchanged, with the secretary of war continuing to act much as a general-in-chief. In November, General Grant was reelected to the presidency, overwhelmingly defeating Horace Greeley, the editor of the New York Tribune. Grant garnered 55.6 percent of the popular vote, the largest margin of victory since Andrew Jackson. Sherman had been disappointed in Grant as president, but he favored the General over Greeley, whom he told Ellen would have been “the worst President any country ever had.”²³

Sherman remained disgusted with Secretary Belknap’s usurpation of power and, declaring that no part of the army was under his control, refused to make an annual report for 1873. Furthermore, he wrote in his memoirs, “I was gradually being impoverished.” Real estate taxes on his Washington house had increased from about $400 annually to $1,500, in addition to “all sorts of special taxes.” Also, the winter and spring of 1873 brought more Indian problems, resulting in the tragic fate of the Modocs, who lived along the California–Oregon border and had been friendly with the whites. A lengthy series of complex events reached a sad, decisive climax when a well-intentioned army officer, Brigadier General E. R. S. Canby, was killed by the Modoc chief Captain Jack.²⁴

After Captain Jack had attempted several times to reach a satisfactory resolution of the Modoc differences with the whites, an aggressive group within the tribe mocked him for being a weak leader. Finally he agreed to their demands. If, upon asking General Canby “many times” more to grant the terms sought by the Modocs, the general did not agree, then Captain Jack would kill him. On April 11, in the midst of the negotiations, a frustrated Indian reportedly shouted, “We talk no more,” whereupon Captain Jack drew his pistol and shot Canby in the head at virtually point-blank range. Another of the white negotiators was also killed.25

General Sherman had earlier advised Canby to deal with the Modocs so “that no other reservation for them will be necessary except graves among their chosen lava beds.” Upon learning of Canby’s death, he told General John Schofield, now commanding the Division of the Pacific, under whom Canby had served, that “any measure of severity to the savages will be sustained.” Sherman named the aggressive Jefferson C. Davis to succeed Canby. Davis relentlessly pursued the Modoc warriors, his troops at last succeeding in surrounding and capturing Captain Jack and three other Modocs. They were given a trial, although a gallows was being constructed even as it proceeded. To no one’s surprise, Captain Jack and three others were found guilty of murder and sentenced to be hanged, which was duly carried out. The surviving Modocs, about 150 men, women and children, were exiled to Indian Territory. In 1909, the U.S. government permitted them to return to a reservation in Oregon; by then, only approximately 50 Modocs remained.²⁶

While Sherman had no doubt, he told a congressional investigating committee, “that the Indians, in the aggregate and in detail, have suffered great wrong at our hands,” he rhetorically wondered how the continent could possibly be settled “without doing some harm to the Indians who stand in the way.” He declared, “There has to be violence somewhere.” Interestingly, when General Schofield published his memoirs in 1897, he decried the racial double standard: the Indians tried and executed “while those white men who, in no less fragrant disregard of the laws of civilization, brought on the war, were not called to any account for their crime.” Schofield said that the natural law of the “survival of the fittest” would be cited by some “in explanation of all that has happened to the Indians”; but he did not consider it “a law of Christianity, nor of civilization, nor of wisdom,” only the law of “greed and cruelty.”27

BY THE SPRING of 1874, Sherman decided he could not stomach any more of the Washington situation. He determined to move his headquarters to St. Louis and formally requested the secretary of war to sanction the change. The expense of living in Washington was a great burden, and in St. Louis he would be well located to quickly proceed anywhere in the country that might require his presence. Secretary Belknap approved his stated reasons for the transfer, probably pleased to think that Sherman would be less inclined to interfere with his own power if in St. Louis. This time Grant also gave his assent, and that fall Sherman returned to his St. Louis house on Garrison Avenue. Shortly before leaving the capital, however, the General’s daughter Minnie married Navy Lieutenant Thomas W. Fitch, in one of the most splendid weddings ever seen in Washington, and young Tom Sherman headed for New Haven, Connecticut, to begin studying at Yale. The mansion in the capital, whose maintenance had always been a burden, was sold.²⁸

Sherman was very pleased to have Tom at Yale, and away from the Catholic academy associated with Georgetown University, which he had been attending. Yale’s enviable academic reputation appealed to Sherman, but more important was the kind of men with whom Tom would be associated. In the General’s judgment, the chief benefit of attending Yale would be the relationships formed with future leaders of the nation—a view presumably as relevant now as then. Tom Sherman was an energetic, hardworking person who took his college career quite seriously, and he was not particularly impressed by the Yale experience.

“The system of lectures,” he said, was “very unsatisfactory,” and he complained that the professors “do not encourage original thinking in their students.” Becoming interested in studying law, he tried to start a debating society. The attempt failed, and Tom blamed the failure on the “miserable little secret societies” of the boys, which he declared wasted time and money, created jealousies and bickerings and largely prevented “anything open and manly” from finding favor—rather persuasive arguments. “I am very glad now,” Tom wrote his father, “that I was not foolish enough to join one of those societies.” No Skull & Bones man was he.29

With his interest in legal studies stirred, Tom consulted with Sherman about a future course of study. Tom seems to have been feeling his way, merely exploring the law and the possibilities of a legal career. Sherman assumed that his son was committing to the legal profession. Clearly the General was not happy with the manner in which the postwar army had developed, and he wanted to steer Tom away from either a military career or a religious vocation. For several years Sherman had favored the law for his son. Now he envisioned Tom returning to St. Louis, studying law at Washington University, and completing his preparations in the law office of Sherman’s friend Colonel Henry Hitchcock. For a time after graduation from Yale, that is exactly what Tom did. But, totally unknown to the General, another consideration had long been weighing upon his son’s mind—one that became, by 1878, irreversibly dominant.³⁰

Tom had decided to become a priest. In mid-May he informed his parents about his intentions. Sherman was shocked. He reacted with bewilderment, sorrow and rage. Tom’s decision, he wrote Minnie, “has embittered me more than I ought to write.” While he said that he was trying “to check my feelings” against Tom personally, he found it impossible to do so “against the cause of his action, the Catholic Church.” Furious toward the church, he heatedly told his daughter Minnie that now he was even suspicious of her; indeed, of “all Catholics.”³¹

Time and again in the following weeks, Sherman excoriated the Catholic Church in the most bitter terms. Naturally he wrote to his close friend Henry Turner, who was a Catholic, and who must have been troubled by some of Sherman’s invective remarks about the church. The General assured Turner that he would not turn against Tom (although at one point he did contemplate cutting him out of his will), “but I do against that Church which has poisoned his young mind . . . and weaned him from his father.” Sherman said he had been “forced into the ranks of those who regard the Catholic Church as one of our public enemies.” For several years he had been trying to groom his son to assume the role of leader and financial provider for the family. Now all his designs were destroyed. He looked upon Tom as having deserted his father and the family. The financial security of the family would continue to rest solely in the General’s hands, and he was nearing retirement age. “I can hardly stand it,” he wrote Turner, “and can hardly venture to make any plans or suggestions for the future.” Tom was “the Keystone of my arch, and his going away lets down the whole structure with a crash. I sometimes think that Providence afflicts each of us in the most sensitive part.”32

To another friend, Sherman said that he regarded Tom “as dead,” and declared his animosity toward the Catholic Church so strong that “the bare sight of a Priest, or of any Catholic emblem,” was like “the red flag to an infuriated Bull.” To his brother-in-law Charley Ewing he raged that he had become “an enemy [of the Catholic Church] so bitter that written words can convey no meaning.” Undoubtedly, it grated hard on Sherman that his own son not only accepted a religion which he himself had rejected as foreign to all that he considered rational, but now had chosen to dedicate his very life to that faith. Tom’s decision left Sherman feeling isolated from both his wife, who of course supported Tom strongly, and the rest of his children, all of whom were Catholic. He wrote his daughter Elly that his “thoughts will go out more and more to my Army comrades, because they now compose my family.” He hoped that somehow Tom, who had gone to England to prepare for the priesthood, just might change his mind, writing Turner in November, that “as yet I see no signs of his changing his vocation, although as I understand, he has two years in which to take the final leap.” There would be no change.³³

After Tom’s decision to become a priest in the spring of 1878, Sherman and Ellen had little contact during the rest of the year. Their relationship was sorely troubled, probably worse than at any other time of their marriage, with Cump regarding Ellen, in tandem with the Catholic Church, as largely responsible for determining the direction their son had taken. By this time, Sherman had moved his headquarters back to Washington. Early in 1876, Secretary of War Belknap had resigned in disgrace when a congressional investigation revealed that he was receiving kickbacks from men chosen to operate Indian trading posts. When the new secretary of war, Alphonso Taft of Ohio, agreed to consult Sherman before taking action on army issues, the General returned to the nation’s capital. However, the Washington papers soon got word of his family problems. The rumors were so persistent that Sherman issued a public denial of any marital strain over religion. Still, Ellen spent most of the fall of 1878 in Baltimore, where two of the children were in school, while Sherman worked in his Washington office, attended various meetings, and during the late summer, headed west for another military tour. Christmas 1878 found Ellen and the children, except for Tom, gathered in Baltimore, with the General alone in Washington. He was reunited with the family on New Years’ Day, but soon left for another extended trip. Although he eventually renewed contact with Tom, both by letter and in person, Sherman could never really accept his son’s choice of the priesthood, and he never forgave the Catholic Church.34

During the winter of 1879, Sherman traveled south, journeying through the former Confederacy, accompanied by a small group of officers and his daughter Lizzie. First retracing the Atlanta campaign and the march to Savannah, he told Turner, “If I were the devil incarnate, as many people thought me in 1865, I surely exposed myself to revenge or insult.” People everywhere knew that Sherman was coming, and crowds of whites and blacks gathered at the depots, acting in a respectful manner, and “in not a single instance,” wrote the General, “was a word uttered, within my hearing, that was rude, impolite, or offensive.” He said that at every hotel his party was given the best rooms, the best tables, “and all classes came to me as I walked the streets or sat in my room, just as I wanted them to do.” From Savannah, Sherman headed west to New Orleans, where he arrived in time for Mardi Gras, taking rooms on Dauphin Street near Canal Street, and receiving a command to “pay my personal and official respects to Rex,” the King of Carnival.³⁵

When King Rex disembarked from a steamboat at the foot of Canal, Sherman was waiting at the place designated for their meeting, in company with former Confederate General John Bell Hood. Rex approached on horseback, in all his masked finery, recognized and saluted Sherman, and requested that the General attend his royal reception that evening. Sherman was pleased to do so, of course—he would be one of perhaps a hundred people who gathered at the Royal Banquet Hall. Everyone drank to Sherman’s health, “and with evident heartiness,” he declared to Turner. At the conclusion of Rex’s welcoming speech, Sherman was made “a Duke of Louisiana” and awarded a decoration. He replied appropriately, and then John Bell Hood spoke, referring to “our former relations as opposing Generals,” Sherman wrote, “but with compliments more than I expected.” King Rex arranged that on the following day, when he reached the New Orleans Club, Sherman should meet him there, and they would drink champagne to each other’s health. Sherman thought some ten thousand people were watching when they did so. The General certainly relished the prominent manner in which New Orleans had received him.36

After leaving the Crescent City, he next visited “my old school at Baton Rouge, saw the cadets drill and parade, made them an earnest speech, and had them cluster about me, and stayed with the professors until past midnight.” From Baton Rouge he took a steamboat to Vicksburg, visited the lines where his troops had fought and then rode a train to Jackson, after which he headed north. Jefferson Davis, the former Confederate president, was traveling on the train out of Jackson. Informed that Davis was in the next car to him, Sherman wrote, “I did not feel like going out of my way to see Davis.” He remained in his car, and Davis did the same. The General assessed the Southern trip as “in its whole extent most enjoyable, and the people high and low, received me with absolute cordiality and friendship.”³⁷

By this time, the last U.S. Army troops had been withdrawn from the South, which marked the end of Reconstruction. Sherman’s journey across the Southern states did not alter his early formed, and strongly held view about the status of the former slaves. He told Turner that “the repression of the whites was carried too far, and too much support was given to the negroes.” Declaring that “the freedom of the negro is sure,” he said that blacks would only gain political influence to the degree that they could acquire “knowledge and property.” Obviously Sherman did not see, or did not acknowledge, the factors already undermining any hope that African-Americans might achieve economic, political, and educational equality with whites—to say nothing of social equality. Such repressive measures as vagrancy laws, contract laws, the crop-lien system and literacy tests, as well as intimidation through harassment and violence, were denying many blacks their constitutional rights. At the worst, such measures were still enslaving African-Americans in the South.38

SHERMAN’S WORKING RELATIONSHIP with the several secretaries of war who came after William Belknap saw a marked and welcome improvement. But he still had to battle periodic attempts by Congress to cut the size of the army. If Sherman could have had his way, the regular army would have been about 100,000 strong. There was no chance of anything like that number winning congressional approval, as the General knew. Support for a total force of 25,000, especially after troops were withdrawn from the South, proved a continual challenge. Sherman did well to maintain the army at that level—which he knew was far less than he needed to adequately address the problems of the great western frontier. When George Armstrong Custer and 263 of his men died at the hands of the Sioux and Northern Cheyenne in the Battle of the Little Bighorn on June 25, 1876, Congress authorized an increase of 2,500 in the army’s strength. After the passage of a little time, however, many congressmen would again favor a reduction of the army’s numbers.³⁹

As general-in-chief, Sherman hoped to use his position and influence to make some reforms in the army, particularly relating to military organization and the inevitable integration, in a democratic society, of military professionals with citizen-soldiers. In this connection, Sherman was greatly impressed by a highly talented young officer named Emory B. Upton, who had graduated from West Point in 1861. Upton experienced a spectacular Civil War career, rising to become a brevet major general at twenty-four. Disturbed by the thousands of lives that he saw wasted in frontal assaults, and especially perturbed by the generalship during the Wilderness campaign, Upton published a well-received book called A New System of Infantry Tactics, which offered a sophisticated, compelling and forward-looking analysis.

Sherman developed a close relationship with Upton, became sort of a patron and mentor of the bright officer and in 1875 placed him on a commission to propose army reforms. Soon after, he sent Upton and two other officers on a foreign study tour of various military forces and installations. While Sherman was especially interested in the Middle and Near East, primarily because he had found the geography and climate somewhat reminiscent of the American West, Upton centered his attention on Europe, was deeply impressed by the German military forces and came back convinced that the U.S. Army should be reorganized like the German army.40

But Sherman rejected the idea of adopting the German military system. As he analyzed the American situation, he saw no need for either compulsory military service or a huge army, because there was no country north or south of the United States that possessed the capability of challenging the nation; the idea of a European power crossing the ocean with sufficient forces to menace the United States was absurd. Obviously the army must continue dealing with the problems of Native Americans and white frontiersmen in the great West. But a new concern had also arisen. The 1870s, for the first time in American history, brought significant clashes between labor and capital. These surprised and alarmed a great many Americans, who had imagined that the United States was somehow immune from the class violence of Europe.

Terrorism involving the Molly Maguires in the eastern Pennsylvania coalfields, reached a peak in the mid-1870s. Named for an Irishman who led a violent movement against the British, the Molly Maguires, through intimidation and even killings, championed Irish-American workers who were perceived as being wronged by coal mine owners. Far more important, however, was the great railroad strike of 1877, and the resulting violence. Wage cuts caused the strike, which began on the Baltimore & Ohio line, but soon involved other railroads and spread across the country. From New York and Chicago to San Francisco, looting, rioting and burning destroyed millions of dollars in property and resulted in the death of more than a hundred people, with the worst violence occurring in Pittsburgh. A Pittsburgh newspaper feared the beginning “of a great civil war in this country between labor and capital.” In some cities federal troops were brought in to restore order. Thus Sherman, who expected yet more labor violence, wanted to keep the army as strong as he possibly could. Militia, sympathizing with the strikers, might defect, but the army could be depended upon to follow orders, and Sherman’s empathy lay with capital.41

The General concluded, and Upton supported him, that the nation’s best military solution for the foreseeable future would be an expandable army—an updated and refined idea, traceable in a more simplified form back to John C. Calhoun’s tenure as secretary of war. Sherman hoped that the regular army could be enlarged to some degree. Whether that happened or not, he wanted every army regiment organized with a capability of rapidly incorporating a large number of men in any time of emergency—be it war, labor violence or whatever. His goal would be a total force of 200,000, which he considered sufficient to meet any conceivable threat to the United States. The expandable army concept, which some scholars have concluded could not have worked, was rejected by Congress, and Sherman’s hope of reform came to naught.⁴²

He was successful, however, in spearheading significant educational advancements for army officers. Deemphasizing the engineering role of West Point, Sherman favored broadening the curriculum with more military-centered courses. Although he considered the study of history and literature advisable for a well-rounded education, he believed those subjects should be pursued during a cadet’s free time. West Point’s primary mission, as Sherman conceived it, was to prepare officers for war. That meant practical military studies must predominate. Furthermore, Sherman wanted West Point to serve as a preparatory institution, leading to more advanced and specialized military education. To that end, he backed a School of Application for Infantry and Cavalry at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. It was the beginning of an army staff college dedicated to “the science and practice of war,” later becoming the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College. It was one of Sherman’s most important achievements while general-in-chief of the army. Sherman also founded, in 1878, the Military Service Institution, to bring together army officers “with a common interest in acquiring specialized knowledge.”43

By the late 1870s, the first African-American had entered West Point, a development not to Sherman’s liking. In the spring of 1880, Johnson C. Whitaker, a black cadet, claimed to have been attacked during the night by several white cadets. General John Schofield, then serving as superintendent of the academy, did not believe Whitaker’s story. Schofield was convinced that the young black concocted an incident to avoid an examination for which he was not prepared (twice before he had been found deficient) and to seek revenge on white cadets who shunned him. Sherman supported Schofield strongly. “Even if Whitaker’s story be true,” Sherman wrote Henry Turner, “he is not the kind of man to fight battles or to command men.” Sherman declared that Whitaker “should have resisted any three men, and made noise enough to attract attention . . . —but he lay quiet feigning.” What really convinced Sherman that the black cadet staged the whole thing was that, he told Turner, “His feet were tied gently, and his hands tied in front. He was not bruised a particle . . . and the alleged maiming was simply farcial.”⁴⁴

The incident, however, created “great public excitement,” in Schofield’s words, and gained national attention. “The newspapers,” said Sherman, “are like a pack of hounds—one barks and the others join in without knowing the cause.” Whether deservedly or not, and Sherman thought not, West Point was subject to considerable criticism. President Rutherford B. Hayes, a brigadier general in the war, decided to intervene. He removed Schofield from the superintendency and replaced him with Oliver Howard. The President did not consult Sherman about the change. Sherman assured Henry Turner, also an academy man, that despite “the howl against West Point,” the military academy “is in superb order, and the character of the young graduates compares most favorably with that of any previous period.”45

MEANWHILE, SHERMAN’S RELATIONSHIP with Ellen remained quite rocky. Her general aversion to social occasions, well established long before Tom’s priesthood decision entered the picture, became more pronounced as the years passed. She seldom accompanied Cump to the theater, which was probably his favorite entertainment, or to dinner parties, banquets and dances. In fact, Ellen wrote a letter to a Mr. Rulofson in 1877 that gained public notice, in which she castigated “the Evils of the Dance,” and commended a book Rulofson had written against dancing. Dancing, of course, was a pleasure that Sherman had enjoyed since his teenage years. The General, a gregarious personality who relished an active social life and savored his fame, which was perhaps unsurpassed by any American, was never inclined to sit at home. Sometimes he escorted one of his daughters to the theater, or a banquet, or whatever occasion beckoned. At other times, and more frequently, his companion would be a female acquaintance, usually younger than he.⁴⁶

In the early 1870s, Sherman had met Vinnie Ream, a sculptor and singer, then in her midtwenties. A talented artist, she was selected by a committee, of which Sherman was a member, to fashion a sculpted likeness of Admiral Farragut. Sherman and Vinnie developed a close relationship. When she married several years later, they still remained in contact from time to time.

Then in the spring of 1880, Colonel Joseph Audenried, Sherman’s longtime aide and friend, suddenly died. Sherman was summoned to Audenried’s bedside at 1:30 in the morning of June 3, and stayed with him until his death three hours later. The colonel left a widow who was in her thirties, and a young daughter who proved a challenge to manage. Sherman soon took it upon himself to look after Mary Audenried, and to some extent her daughter too—although not financially, for Mary came from a wealthy family which had provided generously for her. Sherman’s relationship with Mary Audenried lasted through most of the 1880s. Of Mary’s association with the General, one historian stated unequivocally, “Within six months [of her husband’s death] she took him to her bed.” (Mary Audenried had indicated to Sherman, in the early days of her marriage, that she found him more attractive than her husband.) Another historian wrote, in a more guarded assessment, that Sherman “clearly . . . enjoyed younger women, and there must have been some flings. . . .”47

Whatever the truth about sexual intimacy with other women, it seems fair to say, that Sherman’s relationships with Vinnie Ream, Mary Audenried and perhaps others provided an emotional gratification that was long missing from his relationship with Ellen.