"From the Mud Springs the trail is due west, and crosses the mountain range which separates the Yellowstone from the Madison, both tributaries to the Missouri, descends this tributary to the West Fork of the Madison, and here is the Lower Geyser Basin. It would require a volume to describe these geysers in detail. It must suffice now for me to say that the Lower Geyser Basin presents a series of hot springs or basins of water coming up from below hot enough to scald your hand, boil a ham, eggs, or anything else, clear as crystal, with basins of every conceivable shape, from the size of a quill to actual lakes 100 yards across. In walking among and around these one feels that in a moment he may break through and be lost in a species of hell.
"Six miles higher up the West Madison is the Upper Geyser Basin, the spouting geysers, the real object and aim of our visit. To describe these in detail would surpass my ability or the compass of a letter. They have been described by Lieutenants Duane, Hayden, Strong, Lord Dunraven, and many others. The maps by Major Ludlow, of the Engineers, locate several geysers accurately. We reached the Upper Geyser Basin at 12 M. one day and remained there till 4 P. M. of the next. During that time we saw the old 'Faithful' perform at intervals varying from sixty-two minutes to eighty minutes. The intervals vary, but the performance only varies with the wind and sun. The cone, or hill, is of soft, decaying lime, but immediately about the hole, which is irregular, about six feet across, the incrustation is handsome, so that one can look in safety when the geyser is at rest."
Returning to Fort Ellis, they next rode to Helena, the Capital of Montana Territory, 106 miles in one day, by a relay of stages. They visited old Fort Benton, established long ago by the American Fur Company, also Fort Shaw, and then striking over the country to Fort Missoula, and then across the Bitter Root Mountains through Idaho and across Washington Territory to the Pacific coast.
Sherman devoted much time in his later years to literary work, chiefly in the form of magazine articles, about the war, early days in California, and other topics of historic and general public interest. In 1875 he published his "Memoirs," a large volume recording his military career. Its appearance caused a great sensation, as no other prominent army officer had, at that time, done such a thing as to write a history of his own career. The book was written in Sherman's characteristic style, breezy, vigorous, frank, fearless. Many of its statements of fact and opinion bore hardly upon others and provoked contradiction. Sherman took all criticisms upon it kindly, and in subsequent editions printed them, together with many other messages of praise, in an appendix to the book. Moreover, there were, as Sherman himself acknowledged, many errors in the book, originating in faults of memory and otherwise. As fast as these were pointed out and proved, Sherman corrected them.
Referring one day, in conversation, to the criticisms of his "Memoirs," he said:—
"They amuse me, make me laugh, and frequently, I am glad to say, serve me a good purpose by calling attention to real defects and errors which in time will be corrected. I have here a copy of my book with each error, so far discovered, marked and carefully annotated. When the work of correcting is completely finished, they will be made public, either during my lifetime or when I am gone. These 'Memoirs' have been the subject of much misconception in the public mind. I do not intend them as history. I offered them as my testimony, simply. I endeavored to describe accurately the stirring events therein referred to as I saw them. I do not pretend to say that everything occurred as I say it does, but as it occurred to me. Other men may have seen things differently. None of us see things exactly alike. But the records upon which my book is based are open to all. They consisted of my correspondence and official reports, making forty volumes of manuscript letters pasted in letter-books. These forty volumes are in the War Department at Washington. I had a duplicate copy. One day I sat down to glance at these letters, and conceived the idea of reducing their contents to narrative form, but not for publication. I did not intend that the public should ever read them, except as my posthumous papers. After I had made some progress in the work, I showed the first sheets to a few friends. I was urgently advised to complete the labor I had begun, and submit it to the public in the shape of 'Memoirs.' I took the advice and so published the book, expected severe criticism, and got it. I had sense and foresight enough to know that everybody would not agree with me. No writer ever gets justice from his contemporaries, and, outside of this, I knew I was liable to err, and only pretended to give things as they looked through my glasses.
"Now, there were a good many little prejudices among the soldiers and the armies of the West which the public, at this day, do not appreciate. For instance, there were three grand Western armies—the Army of the Tennessee, Army of the Cumberland and Army of the Ohio. There were unavoidable jealousies between these armies and their commanders. Their respective triumphs and defeats were the subjects of undue taunts, ridicule or criticism. My particular army was that of Tennessee, and it is more than possible, and quite probable, that I have colored things highly in its favor. Doubtless I was much prejudiced in its favor, just as you would be in favor of an old acquaintance as opposed to a comparative stranger. I knew every brigade and regimental commander in this army, and was familiar with the fighting capacity of each corps. I knew exactly what division to hold in reserve, and those to storm a breastwork. Besides I had this army so organized that I had only to give an order and it was executed. No red tape nor circumlocution was necessary. If I wanted one of Buell's corps I had to issue a command, and that had to be repeated, perhaps in writing from corps to division, and from division to brigade and regiment, and thus would take two hours to get a body of troops in motion when time was precious and impetuous action was needed. My army was one of wild fighters, never so well pleased as when driving the enemy before them. Buell had a splendid army, but it was slow and conservative, composed of as brave and stubborn fighters as any other command, and yet not accustomed to brilliant and quick movements.
"The attack made on me about the 'political Generals' was unfair. I never used such a term. My sole intention was to mention, in a spirit of fair criticism, certain circumstances that in a measure defeated my efforts to have a constantly efficient army. For instance, we would have a big fight and come out victorious. We would go into camp for an indefinite period, and with no prospect of an early campaign. At such periods I noticed that my subordinate commanders who had previously had political aspirations would strike out for home to see the 'people.' They would make a few speeches, and as the fighting season approached they would rejoin their commands. In the meantime, if I wanted to find out anything about the exact condition of each division, the transportation, or the commissary or quartermaster affairs, I could find no responsible head to give me official information. Such things tended to destroy the discipline, and consequently the efficiency of the army, and it was a matter to which I had good reason to object. I wanted commanders who would stay with their commands, and not those who cherished ambitious political projects, and who were continually running off to see the people at home."
General Sherman in 1884 requested to be put on the retired list of the army, in order that Sheridan might be promoted to the full rank of General; and this was done on February 8 of that year. A couple of years later he removed to New York and for the remainder of his life made his home in that city. He was one of the most conspicuous figures in society there, a welcome and honored guest everywhere. After living for a couple of years in a hotel, he bought a house, at No. 75 West 71st St., and there gathered his family about him. In the basement he fitted up a room which he called his office, and here he received visitors and answered correspondence. In the hours which he devoted to these duties he presented a picture which strikingly impressed itself on the memories of all who saw it. His desk was in the middle of the room, and there he sat, amid piles of books, records and papers, and surrounded by old war maps and mementoes. He wore an easy office coat or a dressing gown, and for aids to his eyesight he had a huge pair of round-glassed, tortoise-shell-rimmed spectacles. Wielding his paper knife and taking up his pen occasionally, he would keep busy and at the same time would sustain conversation with a caller, on whom every now and then, as he addressed him, he would bend his keen, direct gaze, raising his brows and looking over the tops of his spectacles. The walls of this room, too, have often rung with laughter, responsive to the kindly joke, the ready jest, the queer reminiscence of old times, inimitably told, with which he made the time pleasant for groups of his intimate friends, especially his old comrades of the Army. When a reporter visited him he would get a cordial enough welcome to the General's nook, but presently old "Tecumseh" would look up and say something like this:
"Oh, what's the use of bothering with an old fellow like me? Haven't I had enough publicity? Umph! More than I wanted. Now, my dear fellow, I like you and your paper, but you mustn't print anything about me; you really mustn't."