CHAPTER XXXIX
Early in the winter I had a visit from a beautiful young lady, an orphan daughter of a rear admiral of whom I had known in former days. She had found herself temporarily embarrassed, and had planned an afternoon of music and reading, was about to send out some cards, and wished me to be one of her patronesses. I gladly consented, and on the afternoon designated, went to her boarding-house near the Park, her landlady having kindly given her rooms for the entertainment. I was early, and as nobody appeared I pressed the negro boy at the door into my service, and placed some palms I found at hand, arranged the desk, and awaited the reader and her audience. Presently Bishop Potter entered, carrying the bag which held his robe, on his way, perhaps, to christen a baby. I knew him "by sight," and ventured to introduce myself, simply as "Mrs. Pryor," explaining my presence. He told me of his interest in the occasion and in the young lady who was to read, adding, "I know little of her qualification for her task, but I did know her father." Presently who should walk in, tall, grim, and unattended, but General Sherman! The bishop instantly presented me as Mrs. General Roger A. Pryor. I was so wrought upon, finding myself in this awful presence, that I exclaimed, "Oh, General Sherman! Never did I think I should find myself in the same boat with you!"
He looked at me gravely a moment, and said: "Now see here! I'm not as black as I am painted."—"And I," said the bishop, "am sorry, sorry, to find the wife of my good friend, the general, willing to remember things past and gone forever."
"Well," said General Sherman, "if she doesn't forbid me the house, I should like to call on General Pryor! I'm told they have the cosiest little home in New York."
He did call, and so did his charming daughter, Rachel, whom I liked, and hope I made my friend.
As to the "reading"—Mrs. Botta, Mrs. Bettner, the two great ones and my own small self were the major part of the audience,—fit though few,—but I must confess that no occasion could have been to me fraught with more interest, more significance. My thoughts rushed back to the time when the man before me had marched through an unhappy Southern state without even a wheelbarrow to intercept his way, when all laws of civilized warfare were sent to the winds, and the women and children, in a belt sixty miles wide, were plundered and driven from their homes; returning, after he had passed, to weep over the blackened plains he left behind him. In his official report of his operations in Georgia he said: "We consumed the corn and fodder in the region thirty miles on either side, from Atlanta to Savannah, also the sweet potatoes, hogs, sheep, and poultry, and carried off more than ten thousand horses and mules. I estimated the damage done to the state of Georgia at one hundred millions of dollars, at least twenty millions of which inured to our benefit, and the remainder was simply waste and destruction."[8] But the blame for this pillage must be placed higher than the shoulders of General Sherman.
On December 18, 1863, Major-general Halleck thus instructed him: "Should you capture Charleston, I hope by some accident the place may be destroyed, and if a little salt should be sown on the site, it might prevent the growth of future crops of nullification and treason."
Sherman replied December 24, 1863:—
"I will bear in mind your hint as to Charleston, and do not think 'salt' will be necessary. When I move, the Fifteenth Corps will be on the right of the right wing, and their position will naturally bring them to Charleston first,—and if you have watched the history of that corps, you will have remarked that they generally do their work pretty well. The truth is, the whole army is burning with an insatiable desire to wreak vengeance upon South Carolina. I almost tremble at her fate, but feel she deserves all that seems in store."