Twenty Years in Europe. Samuel H. M. Byers
hundred miles in a railroad car with him, through the most interesting part of Spain, and read a yellow-backed novel all the way. “I never go to a new place, but I know all about it,” he said; “its topography, geography, history. A thousand times my habit of observing has afterward been of use to me.” He told how, when he was a young lieutenant in the army, stationed in Georgia, his comrades spent their leisure Sundays reading novels, card playing, or sleeping, while he himself went riding or walking everywhere, exploring every creek, valley, hill, mountain, in the neighborhood. “Twenty years later the thing that most helped me to win battles in Georgia was my perfect knowledge of the country, picked up when I was there as a boy. I knew more of Georgia than the rebels themselves did.” He insisted on our acquiring a habit of observing everything, learning everything possible. “You don’t know how soon you will have use for the seemingly useless thing that you can pick up by mere habit.” He related how, when he captured a train and telegraph station down South once-[It happened that I had been present on the occasion] – he called for some one among the privates to try to take off messages. His own operator was not at hand. A young soldier, who had once picked up a little telegraphing as an amusement, stepped forward and took a rebel message from the wire that turned out to contain information of vast importance to the whole army.
August 4.-Yesterday, to make him more comfortable, Mrs. B. had had a bed placed for the General in our little front salon. “I won’t have it there at all,” he said. “There shall be no trouble for me. Back it goes into the bedroom. Give me a cot in the hall-that’s what soldiers like.” The bed went back.
At noon, a very swell company of cadets came up from Horgen to do the General a little honor. I happened to be away, and, as the captain could speak no English, and the General no German, a funny scene followed. They drew up in line and saluted, and the General saluted in return. Then he made a good-natured, funny, little speech in English. They all laughed, and seemed to think it good, gave him a cheer, fired their guns and went back to the lake. The captain afterward asked me what it was the General said. I told him that he praised their company as being one of the nicest he ever saw, and said if they would stack guns and come to the house, they should drink to his health in some good champagne. “Mein Gott! and did he say that,” said the captain; “and we, big fools, just walked off and missed it all.”
General Sherman’s memory for names, places and incidents was certainly phenomenal. He had never been in Russia before, yet, in telling us of his delightful trip over the Caucasus Mountains, he recalled all the nearly unpronounceable names of villages and mountains along his route. He had seen and investigated everything along his way, and talked with half the people he met, whether they understood him or not. He was so kindly in his ways, so sincere, no one ever took his addressing him amiss. I could not help at times comparing him in my mind with what I had read of the Duke of Wellington.
Colonel Audenried amused us not a little, by telling, confidentially, at the supper table, of the great excursion the General and his party had tendered them by the Sultan on the Black Sea. The Sultan’s magnificent private yacht, manned by sailors in gilt jackets, carried them everywhere. Wines and lunches and dinners were only to command. It was a beautiful, oriental time; but, when they got back, a bill of $600, I think, was presented to the General, on a silver platter. He gracefully paid it, and said nothing.
August 5.-To-day there was a flowing of champagne, in fact. The army officers, at Zurich and in neighboring towns, chartered a steamer and arranged for a banquet in the General’s honor at the Castle of Rapperschwyl, at the upper end of the lake. The day was beautiful, and it was a fair sight, as the steamer, decorated with Swiss and American flags, filled with officers in gay uniforms, and with music playing, turned into Horgen, the landing nearest to Bocken. The villagers fired cannon, waved flags and cheered, as General Sherman, in full American uniform, went down from Bocken to the landing. A naturalized Swiss-American kept a restaurant near to the landing. He had had an enormous American flag especially made, to hang out as the General went past his place to the steamer. The General took off his hat to it, called a pleasant word to the owner of the flag, and the man was happy. Years afterward he kept that flag as the one the great General had greeted. He hung it out only on great occasions. I doubt not it will be wrapped about him at his grave. How easy it is for the great to make men happy.
The excursion on the lake, and the banquet, were delightful. In the shadow of the old castle, the talk and the toasts were about two Republics. The name of William Tell was being spoken with the name of Washington. The Swiss Dufour and the American Sherman were linked together, as the Swiss officers touched glasses. It is an international episode like this that helps, more than all the tricky diplomacy of the world, to give peoples a kind understanding of each other.
Sherman was amazed to find out that these officers, all the preceding winter, had (at their officers’ school) been studying his campaigns. Every move about Kenesaw Mountain, every day of his assaults on Atlanta, were as familiar to these men as to members of his own staff. I never in my life saw a more interesting scene than when, under an awning, on the deck of the steamer, these Swiss officers stood around him, while, with a big military map before him, he traced for them the route of the “March to the Sea.” It was a picture for an artist. It was as if Napoleon had described to a listening group of American officers, the campaign of Italy. All were greatly impressed with the great simplicity of his talk, his kindness of manner, as with pencil he marked for them each interesting spot of the campaign. It was a great thing to have the most famous march of modern times explained to them in so friendly a way, by the commander himself.
“I will never forget this day,” said more than one officer to me, as we left the steamer that evening.
They drew lots for the possession of the map with the General’s pencil marks, and it fell to Colonel Schindler, the Consul for Austria. “It shall be an heirloom forever in my family,” said the Colonel to me one evening at his tea table.
August 6, 1872.-In the evening, my wife and I gave a reception to General Sherman at the rooms of the Bellevue hotel in the city. It was attended by our personal friends, by Americans then in the city, by a number of officers and by many prominent people. The General was in full uniform. Numbers spoke English with him, and with others he spoke tolerable French, that he had learned, probably at West Point.
On the next day it rained, but he was off for the St. Gotthard pass. We protested against his starting in bad weather. “Weather never holds me back from a journey,” he said. “If it is raining when I am starting, it is almost sure to clear up on the way, and when I most need it.”
We were again out at Bocken. He had changed his mind about the scene. It was the finest view he ever saw. On leaving, he gave my wife an affectionate kiss, and said, “May God take care of you.” It was to be years before she would see him again.
August 20.-Horace Rublee, our minister at Bern, gave a public reception to General Sherman at the capital the other night. I was invited to attend. It was a rather elaborate affair, in the Bernerhof. Outside a band came and serenaded the General, playing some American airs very poorly. The General was in full uniform. Most of the prominent people of Bern and many public officials were present. The General, I noticed, talked quite a little French with some of the ladies. Nothing of note occurred at this reception, but there was a fine time, and the General enjoyed himself.
The next day was spent in seeing the sights of the city. At noon I saw a bit of Sherman’s well-known gallantry for women. Numbers of us, mostly young men, were standing with him in the Bernerhof corridor. An elderly lady, alone, passed us and started up the grand stairway. She was half way up when Sherman’s eye caught her. Instantly he sprang up the steps and offering his arm escorted her to her room. The rest of us looked on a little abashed that we had not thought to do this.
While in Switzerland the General had met the famous old Dufour, the Wellington of the Swiss army, who had so promptly put down the Rebellion of 1847. With his 100,000 men and his 300 cannon he did more in a month than most generals do in a year. General Sherman sent him, through me, a map of his own campaigns. It gratified the old Swiss warrior greatly and elicited the following reply to me:
“Monsieur le Consul: