The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1884-01-26
sHERIDAN's
How the General Spent His Early Years-A
Plucxy Little Irish Boy.

F. A. Burr, in Philadelphia Press.
Sheridanis parents came to Somerset from
Albany, N. Y, when he was two years old. The
father and mother with the elder children had
dI1fted, when they first came over from Ireland,
to the capital of New York State, where Phil"
was born. After they came to Ohio, the father
was sometimes a laborer on the canal, and some
times a contractor. He was poor, and the family
lived near the center of the town in a one-story
frame house, which has given place to a larger
building. The family drifted to this place to be
near Mrs. Sheridans relatives, who had preceded
her to this country.
This little village has fallen behind the rapid
growth OF the country all about it. Years ago it
was the county seat, made some pretense of
hustle and business, and promised to grow into q
city. But as railroads were built they passed it
by; the county court was held elsewhere; the
young men pushed into more active fields, and
Somerset became that rare phenomenon in the
Nest-a town which actually lost population, in
stead of gaining it, To-day, half buried in snow,
quiet and dull, with few young people to be seen,
it has far less life in its central square than do
most other towns of its size. This open space in
the middle Of the village is surrounded by stores
and offices. Out of it run four roads,, along
which houses are scattered for a short distance,
and then comes open country. There are about
1,400 people grouped in this ~ettlement-fewer
than lived here thirty or more years ago, when
Phil Sheridan, a lively, fighting Irish boy, shouted
and ran through its quiet streets.
Only a few people can recall much of the early
ulotOiy VI tiiS lldl WHO HIS now TedCUtU SUCH an
eminent station, although his mother still lives
here; and Mike" Sheridan, as the people here
call him, is better known, perhaps, than his
brother. Its a half mile or SO beyond the town,
where Mrs. Sheridan lives in a quiet, unpretend-
ing home, such as you find in any country vii
lage. The old lady has passed four score years,
and yet retains her faculties and strength. Her
boys, Phil" and Mike are the pride of her
life, aud, be it said to their credit, in their pros
perity they have never forgotten the plain,
warm-hearted, good mother, from whom they
inherit many of their best qualities. Chance
threw me into the company of this old lady.
Her strong features lighted up and her eyes
s~parkled with pleasure, when the name of the
great General, whom she calls son, was spoken.
HE was always a fine lad and good to his
mother" she said, with a rich brogue that be-
spoke her lineage. II don't want to be foolish
proud about him, but he's been a good son to me-.
He was always in mischief, and always used to
be teachin' the boys TO be soldiers when he was
younger than any of EN-. But he would never
do anything mean, and his worst fault was
his fghtin,. He never leaves a year go round
that he doesn't come to see me, and he's very
kind"
AS can be imagined, Sheridan's early education
al advantages were limited, and he never made
the best of what he had. He was too fond of fun
and the sports of the field to give himself up to
study, and those who remembe him best re-
call the fact that he was not absorbed by a pas
sion for work. firing Of school, he sought en-
pioyment as a clerk IN a country store. The
proprietor said he was too laxative and
restless for business. He hated to stay
in the store, and was always
leading the boys employed with him into all sorts
of deviltry. He had acquired only a fair start in
the English branches at the district school of the
village, kept by an old Irishman named Nc
Naly, before he began work behind the counter.
His instructor was a unique character, and his
hot temper displayed itself in gusts of passion,
which alternated with the most ELUSIVE kind
ness towards his pupils. At one hour he would
thrash and seold till arm and tongue were weary;
at another he would promise the boys a holiday,
and joke with them as if he were a boy himself.
Toward Sheridan especially he was lways either
excessively severe or exceedingly gracious. He
had a kindly feeling for the little Irish boy, who
never knew his lessons and was always playing
tricks andtghting. Butthe teacher had another
favOrite-a boy named Home. One day Sheridan
and Home quarreled, and the result was as
usual. Home rushed into the school-house with
his nose bleeding, wailing his distress to the
master. Mentally was furious. He seized q long
Timber stick and sailed out in search Of Sheri-
dan. 1t was recess and the young conqueror
was sitting on a rail fence watching the school
house furtively, knowing that there were break
ers ahead. The appearance of the teacher was
warning enough. Sheridan ran as fast as his
little legs could carry him.
Come back here, you fighting little bratl'
shouted McNally, as he started in pursuit. The
chase led. up the middle of the main village
street, and everybody turned out to see it. The
pedagogue ran on with flying coat tails and long
hair tossed in the wind, shaking his stick and
making the most angry threats. The boys
strength began to fail; the master was gaining;
escape seemed impossible.
Just then, the friendly door Of a tin shop APP
peared wide open. The tinsmith, an old fellow
named Sam Cassel, was a great friend to Phil,
and to him the boy rushed. Hide me, SAM
he begged. There was not a second to lose. The
old man was at work on a big copper kettle.
Quick as a flash he clapped the kettle over the
boy, and when the teacher turned in he was
calmly hammering away at a rivet, within two
inches of the f~ugitive's head.
where's that boy! He ran in here, " painted
Mentally.
81 don't know. He went out back somewhere. y
bravely lied Cassel.
The teacher looked and looked: but Sheridan
was not to be found, and his bafied pursurer
went back to his school house. An hour later
little Phil came back also, well knowing that
McNally's anger would be cool. The teacher let
the boy walk to his desk and never said a word
about the fight or the chase.
Phil. was not a remarkably good pupil. He
was bright enough, but was too full of life to
ever look at a book when away from McNallys
eye. But he was, from his earliest boyhood, a
lover of soldiers. His eyes danced and his heart
beat whenever there was a drill of the village
militia company. Every summer he would get
a dozen of his sehoolmates together and per-
suade them that it was the best fun in the world
to play soldier. His friend, Cassel, would let
him have a sword of the sharpest and brightest
tin, and, of course, Phil. was always captain.
But there would regularly be some mutinous boy
who wanted to be captain, too, and Sheridan's
military organization would usually break up in
a fight, in which Phil. bruised as many cheeks as
anybody.