Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1884-06-05
SHERDAN's BoYHooD.
How the General Spent His Early Years
A PIucky Little Irish I,ov.

How the General Spent His Early Years
A Plucky Little Irish Boy.
Sheridan's parents came to Somerset
from Albany, N. Y, when he was Q
years old. The father and mother.
with the elder children, had drifted.
when they first came from Ireland, to
the capital of New York State, where
Phil" was born. After they came to
Ohio the father was sometimes labor
er ON the canal, and sometimes con-
tractor. 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
Sheridan's relatives, who had preceded
her to this country.
Only q few people can recall much of
the early history of the man who has
now reached such an eminent station,
although his mother still lives here;
and Mike" Sheridan, as the people
here call him, is better known, per-
haps, than his brother It's half mile
or so beyond the town, where Mrs.
Sheridan lives, in quiet, unpretend-
ing home, such as you find in any coun-
try village. 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, and, be it said to their credit, IN their
prosperity they have never forgotten
the plain, warm-hearted, good mother,
best qualities. Chance threw me into
e Il Ii.
strong features lighted up and her eyes
sparkled with pleasure when the name
of the great General, whom she calls
son, was spoken.
He was always fine lad, and good
to his mother" she said, with rich
brogue that bespoke her lineage. Il
| don't want to be foolish proud about
him, but he's always been 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 'em. But he would never do
anything mean, and his worst fault was
| his fightin' He never leaves a year go
round that he doesn't come to see me,
and he's very kind"
As can be imagined, Sheridans early
educational 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 remember him
best recall the fact that he was not alb
sorbed by passion for work. firing
of school, he sought employment as a
clerk in country store. The proprietor
said he was too talkative 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 McNally,
before he began work behind the coun-
| ter. His instructor was unique char
acter, and his hot temper displayed it
self In gusts of passion, which alter
mated with the most ELUSIVE kindness
toward his pupils. At one hour he
would thrash and scold till arm and
tongue were weary; at another he would
promise the boys holiday, and Joke
with them as if he were boy himself.
| Toward Sheridan especially he was al
ways either especially severe or exceed
ingly gracious. He had a kindly feel
ing for the little Irish boy, who never
knew his lessons, and was always play
ing tricks or fighting. But the 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 dis
tress to the master. McNally was
furious. He seized long, timber stick
and sailed out in search of Sheridan.
1t was recess, and the young conqueror
was sitting on rail fence, watching
the school-master furtively, knowing
that there were breakers ahead. The
appearance of the teacher was warning
enough Sheridan ran as fast as his
little legs could carry him.
Some back here, you fighting little
brat!" shouted McNally, as he started
in pursuit. The chase led up the middle
of the main village street, and every
body turned out to see it. The peda-
gogue 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
fall the master was gaining; escape
seemed impossible.
Just then the friendly door of tin
shop appeared wide open. The tin.
smith, an old fellow named Sam Cas-
sci, was a great friend to Phil, M to
him the boy rushed. Hide me, Sa n, "
he begged. There was not second to
lose The old man was at work on a
big copper kettle. Quick as flash, he
clapped the kettle over the boy, and
when the teacher turned in he was
calmly hammering away at rivet,
within two inches of the fugitive's
head.
where's that boy? He ran in here"
painted McNally.
Il don't know. He went out back
somewhere" bravely lied Cassel.
The teacher looked and looked, but
Sheridan was not to be found, and his
baffled pursuer 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 book
when away from McNally's eye. But
he was, from his earliest boyhood,
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 dozen of
his schoolmates together and persuade
| them that it was the best fun in the
world to play soldier. His friend Cas-
| sci 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 fight, in which
Phil bruised as many cheeks as any
bod 1oa. pL5I01oJ,o in