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General : Ole Sherm
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 Message 1 of 8 in Discussion 
From: MSN NicknameJreb1861  (Original Message)Sent: 8/28/2008 5:28 PM

GENERAL SHERMAN'S COLONIZATION SCHEME

Washington Evening Star

His Comment on Men and Measures in August, 1862.

Copied from the "Washington Evening Star":

United States Commissioner A. J. Williams, of Cleveland, Ohio, a member of the Loyal Legion, recently gave out for publication the following letter written by Gen. Sherman to his brother, Senator John Sherman, in 1862.

MEMPHIS, TENN., Aug. 13, 1862.

My dear brother: I have not written to you for so long that I suppose you think I have dropped the correspondence. For six weeks I was marching along the road from Corinth to Memphis, mending roads, building bridges, and all sorts of work. At last I got here and found the city contributing gold' arms, powder, salt and everything the enemy wanted. It was a smart trick on their part thus to give up Memphis that the desire of gain to our Northern merchants should supply them with the things needed in war.

I stopped this at once and declared gold, silver, treasury notes and salt as much contraband of war, as powder. I have one man under sentence of death for smuggling arms across the lines, and hope Mr. Lincoln will approve it. But the mercenary spirit of our people is too much and my orders are reversed and I am ordered to encourage the trade in cotton, and all orders prohibiting gold, silver and notes to be paid for it are annulled by orders from Washington. Grant promptly ratified my order, and all military men here saw at once that gold spent for cotton went to the purchase of arms and munitions of war. But what are the lives of our soldiers to the profits of the merchants?

After a whole year of bungling, the country has at last discovered that we want more men. All knew it last fall as well as now; but it was not popular. Now 1,300,000 men are required when 700,000 was deemed absurd before. It will take time to work up these raw recruits and they will reach us in October, when we should be in Jackson, Meridian and Vicksburg. Still, I must not growl. I have purposely put back, and have no right to criticize, save that I am glad the papers have at last found out we are at war and have a formidable enemy to combat.

Of course I approve the confiscation act, and would be willing to revolutionize the government so as to amend that article of the Constitution which forbids the forfeiture of land to the heirs. My full belief is, we must colonize the country de novo, beginning with Kentucky and Tennessee, and should remove 4,000,000 of our people at once south of the Ohio River, taking the farms and plantations of the Rebels. I deplore the war as much as ever, but if the thing has to be done, let the means be adequate.

Don't expect to overrun such a country or subdue such a people in one, two or five years. It is the task of half a century. Although our army is thus far South it cannot stir from our garrisons. Our men are killed and captured within sight of our lines.

I have two divisions here—mine and Hurlbut's�?about 13,000 men; I am building a strong fort, and think this is to be one of the depots and bases of operations for future movements.

The loss of Halleck is almost fatal; we have no one to replace him. Instead of having one head we have live or six, all independent of each other.

I expect our enemy will mass their troops and fall upon our detachments before new reinforcements come. I cannot learn that there are any large bodies of men near us here.

There are detachments at Holly Springs and Senatobia, the present terminal of the railroads from the South, and all the people of the country are armed as guerrillas. Curtis is at Helena, eighty miles south, and Grant at Corinth. Bragg's Army from Tripoli has moved to Chattanooga and proposes to march on to Nashville, Lexington and Cincinnati. They will have about 75,000 men. Buell is near Huntsville with about 30,000, and I suppose detachments of the new levies can be put in Kentucky from Ohio and Indiana in time.

The weather is very hot and Bragg can't move his forces very fast; but I fear he will give trouble. My own opinion is we ought not to venture too much into the interior until the river is safely in our possession, when we could land at any point and strike inland. To attempt to hold all the South would demand an army too large even to think of.

We must colonize and settle as we go South, for in Missouri there is as much strife as ever.

Enemies must be killed or transported to some other country.

Your affectionate brother,

W. T. SHERMAN



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 Message 2 of 8 in Discussion 
From: MSN Nicknamell4dixie011Sent: 8/28/2008 8:05 PM
When Men Were Beasts
 
The wagon creaked and bumped along the road,
lurched behind the mule with hollowed eyes;
long hidden from the Bummer's fiery raids,
the mule's work was over, no supplies.
 
But just this morning, harness was brought down,
and placed around the ribs and bony hip;
the collar is adjusted, straps are taunt,
to keep the wagon safe, it must not slip.
 
A faded black, silk dress has been brought out,
cleaned as best it could, before it shreds;
Mantilla lace, long hid, has been prepared,
to cover grieving face and graying head.
 
The road is dusty under mule's feet,
and rises thru the creaking wagon board;
slowly down the lane the mule pulls,
as he takes a loved on to their reward.
 
The clip-clop of the hooves will cover tears,
and the dust will cover faded mourning gown;
the mule will pay no heed to slap of rein,
as the casket sways and bounces up and down.
 
From horizon swirling dust draws ever close,
Sherman's Bummers ready to invade;
they spy the coffin, woman, bony mule,
and whoop and holler, hoping for a raid.
 
From mourner's they took watchbob, cameo,
cared not for funeral custom, nor the dead;
they did not honour one who slipped away,
but threw the casket to the ground instead.
 
They dumped the body, turned the coffin o'er,
silver, gold in casket was their hunch;
as stiffened body fed the buzzing flies,
Sherman's Bummers slowly had their lunch.
 
They used the wooden box for table top,
cared not for woman's tears, nor for her grief;
the old men thay had robbed could only watch,
in horror and contempt and disbelief.
 
The stiffened corspe lay bloated on the ground,
as Bummers ate and spat their ridicule;
not one of them had said a tender word,
to the woman in the shade of bony mule.
 
They joked about the dead, the Southron tears.
while they laughed and ate well of their stolen bread;
when they mounted horses, one had changed his mind,
came back and shot the bony mule dead.
 
And now you tell us that we must forget,
that Southron heart and pride must never swell?
And you think it awful when we wish you haste,
in joining Sherman at the gates of hell.
 
And as the flies and ants began their feast,
on what was left of yankee ettiquette;
the Southron heart refuses to give in
and our Southron pride refuses to forget.
LL
True story
 
 
 

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 Message 3 of 8 in Discussion 
From: MSN Nicknamell4dixie011Sent: 8/28/2008 8:17 PM
The Sacking of Roswell
 
Sherman's orders carried thru
the Ivy Woolen Mill;
would soon be just a memory,
burned down with yankee skill.
 
"Leave all the factories in the dust
of ever rising fire;
leave nothing for their eyes to see,
'cept brambles and the briar.
 
Care not for all the woman's tears,
drag them all outside;
chain the young ones, lest they run
and find a place to hide.
 
Charge with treason, all you have,
we'll ship them north by train;
New Manchester and Roswell now
must burn and not remain.
 
For weaving tent cloth, they will pay,
make sure that all is smashed;
leave nothing standing as it was,
just burning, smoldering ash."
 
It mattered not to yankee scum,
that families would not see,
their daughters mothers, even kids
were now just yank debris.
 
Curses, hoots and vulgar stares,
spread from the devil's den
that made up Sherman's army,
of dirty, drunken men.
 
And in the twilight of our past,
their history's been erased;
for federal flags are flying now,
where women were disgraced.
 
Somewhere in the northern soil
lay woman of the mill;
yet Roswell hears the ghosts that cry
when whippoorwills are still.
 
Cut thru all the brambles
that have grown o'er the path;
the tangled growth is all that's left
to cover yankee wrath.
 
A wall remains to testify,
their crimes no longer sleep;
they took the virtue of the South
and made the willows weep.
LL
Another true story
 
 

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 Message 4 of 8 in Discussion 
From: MSN Nicknamell4dixie011Sent: 8/28/2008 8:44 PM
   In the Path of Destruction
(Apologies to Edgar Allan Poe)
 
The owl and raven did not sleep
but choose instead to hide and weep
in the frenzy of November
    eighteen hundred, sixty-four.
A youngster's cry, a woman's stare,
the raven squawked, "Beware, beware,"
for those who knew the sad affair
of those who lived ungodly war.
In the midst that hinted morning,
    we would know ungodly war;
    greed and evil, nothing more.
 
The cheapest things were hate and faith,
but Sunday on the 28th,
Sherman's Bummers fed the flames
    that led them to our door.
Slashing portraits on my wall,
they did not heed my cry and call;
so intent on Georgia's fall,
they robbed the rich and raked the poor.
I, who knew the pillared mansion
    felt the pain of rich and poor
    loosing things forever more.
 
They set the blaze to granary, barn,
burned my spinning wheel and yarn;
took the judge, not caring for
    the blackened robes he wore.
They forced him to the Georgia slough,
hung him there when they were thru,
then dragged him back in all our view,
his robes begrimed and tore.
How often I have heard of things,
    muddy, smudged and tore;
    only things and nothing more.
 
Amid the shoutings of commands,
a negress rocked with folded hands,
moaning, groaning in between
    the words she softly swore.
"Dead can't rest in little graves,
and I's just one of many slaves,
but dey's the one what misbehaves,
in de yank's ungodly war."
Gasping in the smoke around us,
    we knew then, ungodly war,
    cries will last forever more.
 
She told me of her night of grief,
how she watched in disbelief;
"I tole dem, dey's no treasure
    in de floor.
All dem soldiers, drunk an vile,
de Captain man wid serpent smile,
dug de coffin, lef my chile,
my little Callydore."
Though the years pass slowly onward.
    I can see dead Callydore,
    bones exposed forevermore.
 
"Dey aimed dey guns, as if to shoot,
lef my chile fer hogs to root,
dat little chile,
    so dead, dat I adore.
Den turnin', ridin',----I be hidin',
dey was drinkin', an collidin',
horses reared an some were slidin',
den was quiet as before."
As the building popped and crackled,
    was it quiet as before?
    The raven squawked, then nothing more.
 
Milledgeville, my burned estate,
destroyed by man and evil hate,
lies smoldering now
    from mountains to the shore.
I think of it, the sad outline,
the ragged edge of war's design,
the day the sun refused to shine
in the torches of the war.
In the weary, always dreary
    battle of the yankee war.
    Sleep my Georgia, evermore.
LL
Another true story. Nora Canning's diary. Milledgeville, Ga.
 
 
 
 
 

Reply
 Message 5 of 8 in Discussion 
From: MSN Nicknamell4dixie011Sent: 8/28/2008 8:59 PM
Atlanta's Little Belle
 
The Bible speaks of pestilence
in pages, all foretold;
while Sherman laid the Southland waste,
made war on young and old.
He burnd and looted, wasted life,
shot stock there in the yard;
pushed his way into the homes
with yankee disregard.
He shoved the women, forced old men
to lay down at his feet;
then burned the house, burned the fields,
made pestilence complete.
I hear the roar of laughing men,
spur horses up the drive;
I see the chickens, cows and hogs,
all slaughtered, none alive.
I hear the women cry in vain,
smoke rises to the sky
while smoldering hulks of chimneys
are left to testify
that Sherman's Bummers have laid waste
to all we had back then,
and Satan's federal army
conquered women and old men.
I smell the whiskey on their breath, hear curses fill the air,
and see them torch a Southron church,
and cuss the preacher's prayer.
Before they reached Atlanta,
their bullets whizzed and whirled,
and once again the yanks made war
and killed a little girl.
In the dust of rising hooves,
I hear them give commands,
and watch a puppy lick the girl
and nudge her dying hands.
Atlanta now is burning,
fire turns the skyline red;
hell has come to Southron soil,
behind and up ahead.
Though buildings have grown high once more
and smoke has long since gone;
I hear a noise in traffic,
where this noise does not belong.
A ghostly dog licks little girl
and as I bow to tend her,
she vanishes and calls to me,
Please South, please South, remember."
LL
Another true story. This little girl was killed on the corner of Ivy and East Ellis St. At one time the SCV was going to put a marker there. I don't know if it ever got done. She was the 1st casuality in Atlanta.
 
 

Reply
 Message 6 of 8 in Discussion 
From: rex_osborneSent: 8/29/2008 5:40 AM
Linda, I have probably said this before, but feel compelled to say it again; you are one of the Southland's greatest modern treasures. Please do another book of poetry.

Reply
 Message 7 of 8 in Discussion 
From: MSN NicknameJreb1861Sent: 8/29/2008 3:39 PM
......once again great work on the poems LL. Keep 'um commin. Jreb

Reply
 Message 8 of 8 in Discussion 
From: MSN Nicknamell4dixie011Sent: 8/29/2008 3:59 PM
Rex,
It's to expensive, but thanks for your kind words. You too Jreb.

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