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GENERAL GRANT'S
LAST DAYS
 
GENERAL GRANT'S
LAST DAYS

BY

GEORGE F. SHRADY, M.D.

ONE OF HIS CONSULTING SURGEONS

WITH A SHORT BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF
DR. SHRADY

 

NEW YORK
PRIVATELY PRINTED

 
 

*

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

George I. Shrady, M.D... : ; . . Frontispiece
PAGE
John Hancock Douglas, \I.D. 9
Henry B. Sands, M.D. 13
Fordyce Barker, MI.D. 17
The parents of General Ulysses S. Grant 20
Ulysses S. Grant, grandson of General U. S. Grant 23
Lieutenant Ulysses S. Grant, U. S..\. (grandson of General Grant), when a
cadet at West Point . 29
lacsimile of General Grant's letter, asking the appointment of his grandson to
West Point, with the indorsements of General Sherman and President
McKinley 32
General Grant writing his “Mfemoirs” at Mount McGregor . 35
Facsimiles of conversational notes from General Grant to Dr. Shrady 38, 39, 41
General Grant and family on the piazza of the Drexel cottage at Mount
McGregor 45

A group on the piazza of the Drexel cottage at Mount McGregor .

51
vi LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

Exterior of the Drexel cottage, Mount McGregor, New York . . . . . . 55
The sick-room in the Drexel cottage, Mount McGregor . . . . . . . . 58
The room in which General Grant died . 2. 2. 2. 2. 1... eee 5Q
The funeral procession up Fifth Avenue . . . . . . . . . . 62

The temporary tomb on Riverside Drive in which the body of General Grant

was placed until it was transferred to the mausoleum . . . . . . . 65
Scene at the dedication of the Grant mausoleum, April 27,1897 . . . . . 69
Autograph written for Dr. Shrady GP Ceo a wh ee ge ks el ee Be BS!

Indorsement on the back of a check drawn by The Century Co. to the order of
General Grant . 2. 2... ee 72
GENERAL GRANT’S
LAST DAYS
 

Dr. GeorGE FREDERICK SuHRADY died November 30, 1907, at his
residence, 512 Fifth Avenue, New York city.

Born in New York January 14, 1837, Dr. Shrady had rounded out
his threescore and ten years. He was the son of John and Margaret
(Beinhauer) Shrady, and was one of five children, all of whom were
born at the old homestead at No. 138 Rivington Street. His paternal
grandfather emigrated from Baden-Baden, Germany, and settled in
New York city in 1735. Both of his grandfathers were soldiers in the
Revolutionary War, and his father served in the War of 1812.

His early education was received in the public and private schools
of New York city, and subsequently he pursued an academic course at
the Free Academy, now the College of the City of New York. From
this institution he entered the College of Physicians and Surgeons in
this city, from which he was graduated with the degree of Doctor of
Medicine in 1858. His proficiency in anatomy brought him the same
year at Bellevue Hospital the Wood intercollegiate prize. During
1857 and 1858 he was resident surgeon in the New York Hospital, and
was graduated from the surgical division of that institution in 1859.
He then entered practice in this city.

In the capacity of assistant surgeon in the United States Army,
Dr. Shrady was assigned to duty during the Civil War at the Central
Park Hospital, New York, but later was detailed to field duty on the
operating corps. At the close of the war he returned to private prac-
tice and quickly acquired a prominent place in the surgical profession.
It was through his attendance on General Grant during the latter’s last
illness that Dr. Shrady first sprang into national fame. While Grant,
the public idol, lay ill, an entire nation hung on the words of Dr.
Shrady. His skill went far toward alleviating Grant’s sufferings at

a

0
4 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

the close of his illness. Afterward, when Emperor Frederick was
seized with an ailment similar to that of which General Grant had
died, Sir Morrell McKenzie, the famous English specialist in throat
diseases, who was attending the Emperor, kept in communication by
cable with Dr. Shrady for purposes of consultation, and imparted to
the latter each change of symptom as it occurred.

AFTER President Garfield had been shot, Dr. Shrady was called into
consultation by Dr. Bliss as a surgical pathologist, and later made a
report to the profession and the public, in behalf of the staff, touching
the results of the autopsy. He took part in the autopsy on the body of
the assassin Guiteau, and aided materially in settling several points
that had been raised as to the sanity of Guiteau when he shot President
Garfield. In 1890, when Kemmler was electrocuted, the first murderer
to receive capital punishment by this method, Dr. Shrady was one of
the medical experts appointed to witness the execution. His observa-
tions led him to condemn electrocution unqualifiedly.

Dr. Shrady’s activities were great and varied. He was visiting
surgeon to St. Francis Hospital for twenty years, and was consulting
surgeon there for over six years past. He served in a similar consult-
ing capacity at the New York Cancer Hospital, the Hospital for the
Ruptured and Crippled, the Columbus Hospital, the Fordham (N. Y.)
Home for Incurables, the General Memorial Hospital, the Red Cross
Hospital, and the Vassar Hospital at Poughkeepsie, and as family sur-
geon to the Presbyterian Hospital in New York city. Also he was

. physician-in-chief to the hospitals of the New York Health Depart-
ment and one of the managers of the Hudson River Hospital for the
Insane. From 1861 to 1879 Dr. Shrady was secretary of the New
York Pathological Society, and president of that organization in 1883-
84. He was president of the Practitioners’ Society of New York and
of the American Medical Editors’ Association. Other positions held
by him were the trusteeship of the Hudson State Hospital for the In-
sane at Poughkeepsie, fellow of the American and New York Acad-
emies of Medicine, member of the New York State Medical Society
and various other scientific and professional organizations.

WHILE enjoying high distinction as an authority on subjects relating
to general surgery, and having a large practice, Dr. Shrady took
special pride in his editorial work. This work he began early in his
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 5

professional career, editing the “American Medical Times” from 1860
to 1864. Two years later he founded the “Medical Record” and re-
mained its editor-in-chief for thirty-nine years. He was the author of
“Pine Ridge Papers,” a series of satirical and witty treatises on char-
latanism among medical practitioners. His contributions on surgery
to magazines of both popular and medical character constitute a valu-
able addition to the literature of the profession. For many years he
was a member of the editorial staff of the “New York Herald,” direct-
ing his attention especially to the treatment of those subjects that fell
within the sphere of his profession. He was the foremost advocate in
his writings of the freedom of consultation between members of differ-
ent legally recognized schools of medicine, and was largely instru-
mental in reconciling merely doctrinal differences in medical practice.

He was also an earnest advocate of the extension of clinical instruc-
tion, the establishment of state examinations for the license to practise
medicine, the advancement of the standard of professional education
by increase of curriculum, and many other measures, all of which had
for object the elevation of the profession and the benefit of mankind.
In recognition of his distinguished accomplishments and services the
degree of master of arts was conferred on him by Yale in 1869.

On December 19, 1860, Dr. Shrady married Mary Lewis of New
York, who died in 1883. By this marriage there were four children—
George F., Jr.. Henry Merwyn, Charles Douglas, and a daughter, now
Mrs. John F. Ambrose.

December 19, 1888, Dr. Shrady married for his second wife, who
survives him, Mrs. Hester Ellen Cantine of New York, a widow with
one daughter, now Mrs. Edwin Gould.

Few men are so sincerely mourned or by such a wide circle of
friends, personal and professional, as is Dr. Shrady.

For nearly half a century he was a conspicuous figure in his chosen
profession, and during his whole career he was ever active to help the
unfortunate, to advise and assist the young practitioner, and in all
efforts to raise the standard of medical education and ethics.

Simple, unaffected, courteous, and with a heart brimming over
with kindness, he won the warm affection of all with whom he came
in contact. Among the sincerest mourners at his bier are the poor, to
whom he gave his best services without hope of fee or reward.
 

B HEN General Grant was seized with his fatal illness in
the autumn of 1884, he appeared before the world in
an entirely new character. From being viewed as the
stern, uncompromising, and conquering military com-
( Y\ mander, the revelation of his simple resignation in the
face of great suffering claimed for him new fame as a hero in another
sense. His last battle with the great conqueror destined him for
grander laurels than were gained on any of his many triumphant fields.
It was the purely human side of his nature that then appealed to the
general sympathy of mankind. Thus his last and only surrender was
his greatest victory.

If it had been otherwise, history would have cheated itself of an
example of Christian fortitude the lke of which has been seldom re-
corded. It was the contemplation of this phase of him that gives inter-
est to every detail of his long and painful illness. He was no longer
the man of arms to be dreaded, or the President to be calumniated, but
the brave and helpless sufferer to be pitied and admired.

This is written with the view of presenting an intimate picture of
General Grant as he appeared to one who was in close and friendly con-
tact with him during the last months of his life. If apparently trivial
matters are noticed, they may in a way help to finish the picture in pro-
portion and detail. \Joreover, what would be uninteresting in ordinary
persons may have no little importance in the portraiture of noted char-
acters. There should be no sparing of squints or wrinkles or other
apparent deformities. If the true character does not speak in the like-
7

 
8 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

ness, the picture can never serve its purpose. Properly to interpret
motives, and intelligently to appreciate consequences, one must have
everything within reach—pose, clothing, atmosphere, perspective,
coloring, accessories, foreground, background, high light, and shadow.
Then each spectator can study the result from his own point of view
and profit accordingly by his conclusions. It is not the mere size of the
man so much as his actions under those ordinary circumstances which
make up human experience. How would you have done? is the con-
stant question that suggests itself.

My personal acquaintance with General Grant covered the period
of his last illness, during which I was in his confidence as one of his
consulting surgeons. In such close association there were exceptional
opportunities for obtaining an insight into his general character that
would otherwise have been impossible. There is no place in which
human nature shows itself so plainly as in the sick-room. The patient
is then off his guard against all conventional formalities, and appears
as his plain and simple self. Thus he was found, and thus will the
attempt be made to portray him.

In general appearance General Grant would be considered the type
of a simple, dignified, quiet, and self-contained gentleman. Of medium
height, he was rather stockily built, with short neck and high, square,
and slightly stooping shoulders. When I first visited him, he was
somewhat reduced in flesh and had a decidedly sick and dejected look,
which told of his mental and physical suffering. He-was seated in a
leather arm-chair in one corner of his library in his house at No. 3 East
Sixty-sixth Street, New York, and he wore a loose, woolen morning
gown and an ordinary smoking-cap of the same material.

It would hardly have been possible to recognize him from any strik-
ing resemblance to his well-known portraits. It was not until he bared
his head and showed his broad, square forehead and the characteristic
double-curved brow-lock that his actual presence could be realized.
The difference in this respect between the lower and the upper part of
his face was to me most striking and distinctive. There was the broad
and square lower jaw, the close-cropped full beard, the down-curved
corners of the firmly closed mouth, the small, straight nose with the,
gradual droop at its tip, the heavily browed and penetrating, deep-blue
eyes, and withal the head itself, which crowned the actual Grant with
real dignity and force. His profile more than maintained the classic
facial line, so that his chin might be said to be relatively protuberant.
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 9

His ears were large and plainly stood out at an angle from his head.
The circumference of his skull was above the average for a man of his
size, and was very broad and square in front, while rounded and full
behind.

 

we 55. sen

From a photograph by Epler & Arnold

John Hancock Douglas, M.D.

His manner was so modest, and there was such a complete absence
of assertiveness, that it was difficult to imagine in him the great man
in whom the entire civilized world was at the time deeply interested.
He seemed anxious concerning the result of the consultation and was
plainly apprehensive.

Those present were Dr. Fordyce Barker, his family physician and
long-trusted friend; Dr. John Hancock Douglas, the well-known
10 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

throat specialist; and Dr. Henry B. Sands, the famous surgeon who
had consulted previously on his case. Each in turn made a very formal
and careful examination of the throat of the patient, using for the
purpose the ordinary circular reflecting-mirror fastened to the fore-
head by a band around the observer's head.

In accordance with the usual professional courtesy, I, as the new
consultant in the case, was asked to precede the others, but as I desired
to be initiated into the particular method of examination to which the
General had been accustomed rather than to subject him to unneces-
sary pain by want of such knowledge, the others took the lead.

Very few words were exchanged by the little group. There seemed
to be a strain about the procedure which plainly affected the patient.
Dr. Sands, as well as the others present, duly appreciated this, and was
evidently desirous of diverting the patient’s mind from the real object
of the visit. Accordingly, when he handed me the mirror, he remarked
in his quiet, off-hand manner, that whenever I followed him in such an
examination, it was necessary to enlarge the head loop to give an
extra accommodation for thickness of hair.

Asan opportunity was thus afforded to start a conversation of some
sort between us, | ventured to suggest that hair did not always make
the difference, nor the mere size of the skull, as sometimes the best
brains were very closely packed in very small quarters. At this the
General gave a faint smile, and for the first time during the meeting
showed that he was inclined to be interested in something that might
ease the gravity of the occasion. I was thus prompted to illustrate to
Dr: Sands the truth of what was said by relating to him an anecdote
told of Oliver Wendell Holmes, at the same time hoping to gain the
attention of the patient as a casual listener.

A traveling phrenologist was on a certain occasion giving a prac-
tical exhibition of his skill in one of the public halls of Boston, and had
asked for subjects from the audience. By some chance or design, the
distinguished author was indicated as a choice specimen for demon-
stration. When he stepped on the stage there was becoming applause,
but, as he was unknown to the lecturer, the latter looked with great
surprise at the small man with a small head. Imagining that an
attempt was being made to challenge his ability for discrimination,
he became indignant. Passing his hand perfunctorily over the brow
of the smiling and impassive victim, he rebuked the instigators of the
supposed plot by declaring that his business was to examine the heads
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS Il

of men with brains, not those of idiots! Nor was his discomfiture
appeased by the overwhelming outburst that followed this remark.

The excuse for mentioning this apparently commonplace occur-
rence was that it might open the way for a closer personal contact with
Grant. At least he was temporarily amused, and appeared to relish
the diversion. More than this, he told the story afterward to Bishop
Newman and others, and at my next visit asked that it be repeated.
On that occasion he remarked that his own bumps had been examined
when he was a lad, and the phrenologist had made the usual prog-
nostication, applicable to all boys, that he also one day might be Presi-
dent of the United States.

Notwithstanding this show of consideration on the part of the
General, there was a purpose to keep constantly in mind that he was
known as a stolid and reticent man, and this disposition was to be ,
carefully humored by a studied avoidance of all undue familiarity on
the part of a new acquaintance. Thus it was a becoming policy that
he should always take the initiative, and others merely act as willing
listeners. Besides, it was eminently proper that he should not be
fatigued with unnecessary conversation or be tired by the exercise of
strained courtesy. Although I am not a hero-worshiper in the usual
sense of the term, it was edifying to be even in casual association with
him and to note his different moods and acts.

When it was learned that he was writing his personal memoirs,
never was a promised work more widely heralded or more anxiously
awaited. What specially appealed to the sympathy of the public was
the well-known motive for the task—his desire to lift his family above
the financial distress resulting from the failure of Grant and Ward.

Although his countless well-wishers were unable to help him, it
was a comfort to him to know that they felt for him in every phase of
his trial, and hailed each temporary respite from suffering with deep
and tender solicitude. During it all he was bravely working against
time by making the most of the life so soon to end. He was getting
away from himself by a forced interest in work, although it was a
race against reason, strength, and hope.

During the last months of his illness the General was confined to
his bed-chamber and an adjoining apartment, which he used as his
work-room while writing on his memoirs. The monotony was only
occasionally interrupted by a short drive in Central Park on pleasant
days ; but these excursions were eventually discontinued on account of
12 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

the fatigue they caused. He was of the opinion also that prolonged
exposure to cool air gave rise to neuralgic headaches, with which, from
other causes, he was constantly afflicted. It was mainly for this reason
that he wore his skull cap even when indoors. He accommodated him-
self, however, to his new conditions with remarkable ease, and showed
a disposition to meet each requirement with becoming submission.
He greatly felt the need of something to occupy his thoughts, and the
preparation of his memoirs was in this respect a welcome relief. For
hours he would sit at an extemporized table oblivious to his surround-
ings. At other times he took pleasure in receiving some of his more
intimate friends, occasionally indulging in reminiscent references.

As his room was a thoroughfare for members of his family, he was
seldom alone; but when abstracted or engaged in anything that took
his attention, no one ventured to interrupt him.

That he was not disturbed by the presence of others was often
proved by a polite motion to sit down, while he would unconcernedly
go on with his work. His long experience in camp-life, with his mili-
tary family constantly about him, evidently made him feel perfectly at
ease even in silent company.

He was as simple in his tastes as he was mild in his manner. Those
who knew him only as the stern man of Vicksburg, the warrior whose
ultimatum was “Unconditional surrender,’ found it difficult to recon-
cile such an estimate of his character with that of the plain, modest
person, with soft, kindly voice and cordial manner, who could place
himself on the natural level with any ordinary, every-day visitor. His
modesty, which sometimes amounted to positive shyness, was so un-
affécted and natural that no one could doubt its genuineness, which
made it all the more difficult to match the man with his former deeds.
The chastisement of his illness doubtless had much to do with the
accentuation of this part of his character, and thus displayed his
purely human side to the high light of more thorough analysis.

His mental qualities were those of strength and reserve in bal-
ancing proportions. It could easily be seen that he was accustomed to
examine all important questions mostly from the purely subjective side
of the argument. Always ready to listen to the suggestions of othets,
he nevertheless reserved the right to draw his individual conclusion.
This was his plan in fighting his battles, and proved his extraordinary
resources. Once convinced of the course to be pursued, his only aim
was victory at any cost. The actual result was everything to him.
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 13

He once said that before every battle he always calculated the
dreadful cost in killed and wounded. It was the price before the bar-
gain could be closed. He was so much misunderstood in the adoption
of wise expedients in this regard that many had called him the relent-
less “butcher,” and yet he more than once informed me that the
carnage in some of his engagements was a positive horror to him, and
could be excused to his conscience only on the score of the awful neces-

   

Henry B. Sands, M.D.

sity of the situation. “It was always the idea to do it with the least
suffering,” said he, “on the same principle as the performance of a
severe and necessary surgical operation.” He also remarked that the
only way he could make amends to the wounded ones was to give them
all the prompt and tender care in his power. It was the proportion of
the killed and wounded that was the main thing to take into account,
but, nevertheless, a severe and decisive engagement prevented much
subsequent and useless slaughter.

When asked 1f his military responsibilities had not at times rested
heavily upon him, he significantly answered that, having carefully
studied his plan, it then became a bounden duty to the Government to
14 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

carry it out as best he could. If he then failed, he had no after regret
that this or that might have been done to alter the result. It was
facing destiny with a full front.

Paradoxical as it may appear, he had an almost abnormally sensi-
tive abhorrence to the infliction of pain or injury to others. His sym-
pathy for animals was so great that he would not hunt. John Russell
Young in his charming book “Men and Memories,” in referring to this
trait, has truthfully said: “Not even the Maharajah of Jeypore with
his many elephants and his multitude of hunters could persuade him to
chase the tiger. He had lost no tigers, and was not seeking them.”
This instinct of gentleness was so strong a part of his nature that he
often regretted that he had not in his early days chosen the profession
of medicine. In fact, that had been his first ambition. But it was
otherwise to be, and he was to become an operator and a healer in a
larger sense.

General Grant’s home-life was simple and natural in the extreme.
This accorded with his disposition and habits. Even when President
of the United States his unostentatious manner of living was a subject
for remark, and many were willing to say that it did not accord with
the true dignity of his high office. This criticism, however, had no
effect on him at the time or afterward. So much did he desire the
peace and quiet found in his family that the gratification of it was his
greatest pleasure. In his active life, with its forced interruptions of
routine and its constant irregularity of calculation, there was always
the natural yearning for the rational comforts that so easily satisfy
the plain man.

Although he was not a very early riser, his breakfast was usually
ready at eight o’clock. He was fond of his coffee, chop, and egg, but
was a comparatively light eater. The meal finished, his first occupa-
tion was the perusal of the daily papers. These he skimmed rather
than read. When any subject specially interested him, he would give
it careful attention, as if determined to understand it in all its bear-
ings. He seldom missed a head-line, and always knew in advance
what was necessary for him to read. Jn this respect he was essen-
tially a man of affairs, as under other circumstances it would have
been impossible for him to be even ordinarily informed on current
events.

The Grant luncheon was a bountiful meal, but intended more for
casual guests than for members of the family; and the same may be
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 15

said of the dinner, which was seldom a strictly family affair. The
General always presided at the head of the table, with Mrs. Grant
sitting opposite, while the other members of the family were ranged
alongside. The guest soon felt himself at home in a general at-
mosphere of sincerity of purpose and cordiality of manner. It was
more in the nature of a neighborly call than a stiff and formal social
function. The visitor never left without a favorable impression of
the charming home-life of his host. It is not too much to say that such
solid and simple domesticity formed the proper setting for the sound
and wholesome methods which dominated his placid and earnest char-
acter. .

A great deal has been said of Grant’s excessive use of tobacco. He
was undoubtedly a great smoker. During his battles and while in
camp, on horseback, on foot, or at his desk, he was seldom without his
cigar. It had not always been so, at least not to such a degree. He
had smoked from the time he was a young man, but never to excess
until he became a General in the Union Army and a special object of
interest on that account.

His first reputation as a champion of the weed dated from the
capture of Fort Donelson, when at that time he was described with the
“inevitable cigar’’ in his mouth. The various newspapers discussed
from many points of view this new phase in his character, and quanti-
ties of different brands of tobacco were sent to him from every quarter.
In relating the circumstance, he frankly admitted that this charac-
teristic being as much of a discovery to him as to the public, he was
rather temptingly forced to develop it to its full extent by industriously
sampling the different brands in turn. The main stimulus in such
directions was from various manufacturers in Cuba who sent him
choice selections from their plantations in the vain hope that he would
aid the more extensive sale of their wares by his personal use and in-
dorsement of them. He was always led to acknowledge, however, that
up to that time his taste for fine tobacco had never been fully de-
veloped.

Often when pressed with heavy responsibilities, his rapidly smoked
cigar became his main reliance. While planning or executing a battle.
it was his constant companion; and, as he freely admitted, he was
never better fitted for calm deliberation than when enveloped in its
grateful and soothing fumes.

As might have been expected, the habit grew until only the strong-
16 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

est flavored tobacco could meet his fully developed requirements. This
habit, so inveterate in his later years, was destined to contribute in a
measure, at least, to his death. Although it was not the direct agent
in inducing the fatal throat disease, the irritating fumes of the weed
tended in no small degree to aggravate the difficulty by increasing the
irritation in the already diseased parts. When told that it was neces-
sary to throw away his cigar and smoke no more, he resignedly did so,
but often averred afterward that the deprivation was grievous in the
extreme.

As an offset to what he considered a martyrdom, he would enjoy
the smoke of others, and often invited his friends to smoke in his room.
On one of these occasions he remarked that if not permitted to be a
little wicked himself, he had a melancholy comfort in pitying the weak-
ness of other sinners. This in a way showed that the temptation to
revert to his besetting sin was almost constantly present.

During one of the few times when he felt a little happy over his
relief from pain and worry, and wished “‘to celebrate the occasion,” he
surprised me with the question, ‘‘Doctor, do you think it would really
harm me if I took a puff or two from a mild cigar?” .

There was something so pitiful in the request, and so little harm in
the chance venture, that consent was easily obtained. With an eager-
ness that was veritable happiness to him he hesitatingly took a cigar
from the mantel, reached for a match, and was soon making the most
of his privilege. Only a few puffs were taken before he voluntarily
stopped his smoke. “Well, I have had at least that much,” he ex-
claimed. Continuing, he playfully remarked that it would not do to
have the performance get to the public as it might be said he was not
obeying orders. This expectation, however, was not realized, owing
to an inadvertence on the part of his only witness, who had neglected
to pull down the window-shades at the opportune time. A day or two
afterward there appeared in a newspaper a head-line, “General Grant
smokes again.” Mrs. Grant, who knew nothing of the incident, in-
dignantly denied the truth of the report, and the ill-credited story was
prudently allowed to take care of itself. The General himself was
evidently satisfied to let the matter rest without further discussion,
as he never afterward referred to the circumstance.

Such occurrences made but little impression upon him, as the com-
ments of the press on trivial matters were viewed with amusement
rather than with serious concern. He had been criticized on so many
 

 

 

 

 

From a photograph by Rockwood

Fordyce Barker, M.D.
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 19

more weighty matters that he had become seemingly callous to such
as did not affect his general integrity of character.

There was no time perhaps in his whole career when he became
more sensitive to the public interpretation of his motives than when
his character for honesty was questioned by some in connection with
the failure of Grant and Ward. There was no doubt that the shock
of the announcement greatly added to his already weakened condition
and aggravated the local trouble in his throat. His mental suffering
was most intense and was mainly dependent upon the reflection on his
honor and business integrity which had been so cruelly and so unjustly
made by those who had been directly and guiltily responsible for the
scandal. He was then forced to realize that there was no sacrifice
too great to save that good name he had thus far successfully labored
to deserve.

In his home-life General Grant delighted in simplicity. He felt
perfectly at ease himself, and desired all his intimate friends to accom-
modate themselves to a like condition. With a pure motive of respect
and familiarity he would generally call his old comrades by their sut-
names, omitting all their conventional titles; but he never addressed
them by their christened names, evidently believing that such a course
was lacking in ordinary propriety. Under other circumstances, and
with casual acquaintances, he was always more than courteously dig-
nified and respectfully formal. First names were always used, how-
ever, in his immediate family.

The intercourse between its members was unrestrained and often-
times playful. Fred (then Colonel) Grant, who had the privilege of
being most constantly with his father during the latter’s illness, was
always eager for an opportunity to minister to his most trivial needs.
No greater show of filial love could have been possible. He could
scarcely pass his father’s chair without reaching over to smooth and
pat his brow, and the General appeared to be always expecting this
tribute of affection. Father and son thus came very close to each other.
Next to Mrs. Grant, “Col. Fred” was the Gerieral’s most trusted coun-
selor. The son felt this responsibility, and was always on the alert to
second any wish of his stricken parent. He well knew that the time
for such sacred duties was short, and he was seemingly more than
anxious to improve the fast-passing opportunities. What made the
solicitude greater was the fact that the General, so far from being ex-
acting in his demands, seldom complained and seemed determined to
20 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

give as little trouble as possible under an almost constant stress of
suffering.

Nothing delighted the family more than to learn that the patient
was comfortable and inclined to be cheerful. Sometimes extraordinary
efforts were necessary to make him forget for a time his pain and be
himself again. On one such occasion, when the General had passed a

OOS OY//0
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JESSE ROOT GRANT AT SIXTY-NINE HANNAH SIMPSON GRANT

The parents of General Ulysses S. Grant

The portraits are from original photographs owned by E. R. Burke, of La Crosse, Wisconsin,
whose mother was a cousin of General Grant.

restless night and was much depressed in consequence, I used a rather
bold expedient to rouse him from a settling despondency. Mrs. Grant
and Mrs. Sartoris, while waiting outside his room during one of my
morning visits, had asked as usual how he had slept and what was his
condition on waking. I explained to them his very depressed condi-
tion, and asked them if they would help me create a diversion for the
patient. The plan was duly accepted and the following dialogue
ensued :

“General, two ladies have called, and have asked if they can see
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 21

you. They are very anxious to know how you are, but have promised
not to disturb you by useless questions.”

“But why can you not tell them?” said he.

“They insist upon seeing you themselves, if it is possible,” was the
answer.

“What did you say to them?”

“That they might see you if they promised to allow me to speak
for you.”

“Well,” said he resignedly, “you may invite them in.”

When Mrs. Grant and “Nelly” entered, I introduced them with
mock formality and stated the object of their visit, at the same time
promising the General that both ladies had made a solemn promise not
to engage him in any conversation.

The General took in the situation at once; there was a new glint in
his eye, and with a suppressed smile he very deliberately said, “Ladies,
the doctor will tell you all that you wish to know.” Then, as if they
had been strangers to him, I simply replied that as the General did not
wish to be troubled with useless questions, he desired to say that he
was feeling reasonably comfortable, that he fully appreciated the
honor of their visit, and was correspondingly grateful for their sym-
pathy. By this time his despondency had disappeared, and after Mrs.
Grant and her daughter had bowed and left the room, he called to them
and ended the episode by an enjoyable chat.

With a similar object in view at another time a diversion was
made in another direction, with an equally beneficial result. One night
when the patient was much depressed and unable to sleep, he expressed
a wish, in the temporary absence of Dr. Douglas, to see me. Under
ordinary circumstances an anodyne would have been indicated to
procure for him a good night's rest; but such a remedy had on previous
occasions proved disappointing, and it was agreed that milder and
more natural methods should be tried. Accordingly it was determined
to accomplish the results on new lines. He was fearful of a sleepless
night, and felt that he must rest at any cost. Being determined that
he should not yield to such an impression, I persuaded him that an
altered position in bed might effect the desired object.

“\WVhat shall I do?” he asked, with that gentleness and willingness
to obey orders which always characterized him.

“Allow me to arrange your pillow and turn it on its cooler side,
while you imagine yourself a boy again.” Continuing, I ventured to
22 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

say: “When a youngster, you were never bolstered up in that fashion,
and every bed was the same. Now, curl up your legs, lie over on your
side, and bend your neck while I tuck the cover around your shoulders.”

Apparently the idea struck him pleasantly, as was shown by his
docile and acquiescent manner. Lastly I placed his hand under the
pillow, and asked him if he did not feel easy and comfortable. As he
apparently desired then to be left alone, I could not resist the tempta-
tion to pat him coaxingly and enjoin him “to go to sleep like a boy.”

Mrs. Grant was present, and watched the proceeding with a pleased
concern. After the covering had been otherwise properly arranged
and the light in the sick chamber had been turned low, she and I sat
beside the bed and awaited developments. In a few minutes we saw,
to our great gratification, that the tired and heretofore restless patient
was peacefully and soundly asleep. He rested as he must have done
when a boy. After watching the patient for some time, I turned to
Mrs. Grant, saying: “I ’m afraid that the General will not like that
kind of treatment. He may think it inconsistent with his dignity to be
treated like a child, and may not understand the real motive.”

“Not the slightest danger of that,” replied Mrs. Grant. “He is the
most simple-mannered and reasonable person in the world, and he likes
to have persons whom he knows treat him without ceremony.”

When, at his request, I tried the same method the following even-
ing, he yielded to it as readily as before, and as the result of his
“boy-fashion of sleeping,” seldom afterward was there any need for
anodynes until the last days of his sickness. He told me subsequently
that he had not slept with his arm under a bolster and his knees curled
up under his chin in that way since he first went to West Point, forty
years before.

After this incident it happened that I was brought into closer rela-
tions with General Grant than I had been before. He seemed pleased
to encourage a familiarity of intercourse. He was then no longer the
naturally reserved man, but the frank and open-hearted friend. Thus
he would often invite me to talk with him, and never manifested any
hesitation in giving his views, in a reminiscent way, on different topics
under discussion.

I was pardonably curious to learn his opinion on many matters
with which his great career as a soldier had brought him in direct con-
tact. In the “reticent man” there was thus opened for me a new line
of psychological study. It was the difference between being within
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 23

actual touch of the light-house lamps and in formerly wondering at
their glare and flash when miles away. The same voice then spoke to
me that had made armies move and cannon roar. It was always an
edification to hear this central figure of it all so simply and modestly
refer to his apparently casual share of the work.

 

Ulysses S. Grant, grandson of
General U. S. Grant

This photograph was made about the time the letter was
written which is shown in facsimile on page 32.

\WuHeEN there was much discussion in the newspapers regarding
Grant’s personal treatment of Lee on the occasion of the famous meet-
ing at Appomattox, I was interested to hear his own version of the
event. In all his conversations on the subject, he always spoke of Lee
as a great general and a magnanimous gentleman. It was only the
different reasons for fighting each other that, in a military sense, made
the two men forced enemies. Two practised players took opposite sides
on the checker-board. When the game was over, the issue was closed.
24 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

There was thus no necessity for any embarrassing explanations when
the two opposing generals saluted each other. The real purpose of the
meeting was at first masked by the ordinary civilities of the occasion.
The difference in the appearance of the two was very marked. Lee
was attired in an entirely new uniform; Grant wore a blouse, and was,
as usual, without his sword.

Grant, in relating the circumstance, confessed himself at great dis-
advantage in his ordinary field clothes and “muddy boots,” and felt
bound to apologize accordingly. The apparent discourtesy was purely
accidental, as Grant had no appropriate uniform at hand. He was
notorious for his neglect of such formalities. He was a mere working-
man on the field, with soft felt hat, private’s overcoat, no sword, and
with gauntlets trimmed to mere gloves. His only care was for his
horse, always well caparisoned and well kept. This time, however, his
pet animal limped to the rendezvous with a sprained foot, carrying an
equally sorry rider just recovering from a severe attack of headache.
Lee wore a magnificent sword, presented to him by the ladies of Rich-
mond. Grant, noticing this, instantly made up his mind to waive the
formality of accepting the weapon, as he did not wish in any way to
wound the pride of so valiant an antagonist.

In remarking upon the circumstances connected with the surrender,
he substantiated all the details mentioned in Badeau’s military history.

It was strange indeed to hear Grant describe that memorable and
dramatic scene with the least possible show of exultation or vainglory
and with the rare and simple modesty of a man who was describing
what appeared to him to be a very ordinary circumstance.

No one can say that Grant was given in any way to pomp or show.
He was intolerant of all useless and extravagant exultation. It was
his privilege to march at the head of his victorious army into Rich-
mond and take formal possession of the conquered capital of the Con-
federacy; but instead of doing so, he immediately hurried in a quiet
way to Washington to stop expenditure of men and money and to end
the war in the quickest and most practical way in his power.

Mrs. Grant, in referring to some of the ovations given him during
his memorable trip abroad, said that he submitted to them rather than
enjoyed them. A striking instance was when he received the salute of
royal elephants tendered him by the King of Siam. On that occasion
the animals were drawn up in double line, and as the General walked
alone along a path thus formed, each trunk by way of salute was raised
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 25

in turn as he passed. While fully appreciating the marked distinction
thus shown him, his natural modesty was duly shocked by the atten-
dant display of pomp, and he remarked at the end that he had never
before “inspected such a novel guard mount.” The same feeling ap-
peared to possess him when hemmed in by a cheering crowd and
compelled to acknowledge its cordial salutations. He never seemed
able to understand that the greeting was intended as a distinctly per-
sonal compliment to the man.

That he was never spoiled by these outbursts of enthusiasm was
shown by his frequent expressions of relief when the incentives for
their display were over and he gracefully took his position as ‘“‘an
ordinary private citizen.” In referring to the vote of thanks from
Congress, he would say: “That is the Government’s expression of
appreciation of services’; and once he said to me, “That is the certifi-
cate given me for being a good boy in school.”

He told me that one rainy evening while walking to a reception
which was given in his honor he was overtaken by a pedestrian who
was on his way to the same place of meeting. The stranger, who quite
familiarly shared the General’s umbrella, volunteered the information
that he was going to see Grant. The General responded that he was
likewise on his way to the hall.

“T have never seen Grant,” said the stranger, “and I merely go to
satisfy a personal curiosity. Between us, I have always thought that
Grant was a very much overrated man.”

“That ’s my view also,” replied his chance companion.

When they afterward met on the receiving-line, the General was
‘greatly amused when the stranger smilingly said: “If I had only
known it, General, we might have shaken hands before.”

Although the General had a well-earned reputation for remember-
ing faces and individual points of character in connection with them,
it was not surprising that he should sometimes be at a loss to place
persons he had met before. In order to avoid embarrassment, he

would frequently resort to the expedient of being informed in ad-
" vance of the persons he was to meet.

At a reception given to him by General Sharpe in Kingston, New
York, on a trip to the Catskill Mountains, a noted character of that
region, a great admirer of Grant, was introduced to him. The Gen-
eral, attracted by the open-hearted and bluff manner of the man, in-
quired as to the chance of a pleasant day for the morrow and the
26 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

opportunity for a view from the mountain peaks. The man so much
appreciated the privilege of even this brief interview that he constantly
referred to it in talking with his neighbors.

Long afterward the General was a guest of Mr. Harding, the
proprietor of the Kaaterskill Hotel, when the proud interviewer was
seen approaching them on the road.

“Here comes a man, General, who constantly prides himself on
having talked with you, and he is evidently bent on renewing the
acquaintance.”

“Where and when did I see him,’ asked the General, ‘‘and what is
his name?”

Mr. Harding, being naturally acquainted with all the facts in the
case, having often heard the man tell his story, gave the inquirer all
the necessary information. When the countryman approached, an
introduction followed.

“General, here is an old friend of yours, Mr.

“What, Mr. ! Oh, yes; I saw you at General Sharpe’s. We
had fine weather the next day, although I did not think it possible
when you told me. Are you always such a good weather-prophet ?”

3D

 

 
 

II

2 EEING General Grant so frequently, I had reasonable
opportunities for studying his moods and becoming
acquainted with his views on many subjects. The
topics were for the most part introduced by himself,

ws and there was a freedom in their discussion that was in
strange contrast with his general reputation for studied reserve. His
insight into character and motive was the outgrowth of long and
varied experience with men and circumstances, and was always edify-
ing to the listener. In recognizing fully the hopelessness of his phys-
ical ailment, and that the mortal issue was a mere question of time,
there was a sad sincerity in his reflections that allowed no doubt of
their weight and accuracy. At times he appeared to talk for posterity,
that he might leave behind him some testimony that would be sugges-
tive or useful to others.

It will be easily taken for granted that he had a great burden to
bear in the contemplation of the ultimate doom that awaited him.
Although he defiantly and bravely awaited the final termination of his
sufferings, there were many occasions when he became mentally de-
pressed. At such times he was ominously silent, and would sit gazing
abstractedly into space, and be in essence and substance the silent and
introspective man. When attempts were made to arouse him from such
depressing reveries he would merely reply in monosyllables, as if de-
siring in a courteous way to be left to himself. Often, in apparent
desperation, he would take to a game of solitaire, and for hours would
be quietly fighting a battle with himself.

27

 
28 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

During these periods of depression he was incapable of fixing his
mind on his ‘‘Memoirs,” and often after an ineffectual effort would
give up in despair. He was then aware of having lost his grip on
himself, and would wait patiently and uncomplainingly for an oppor-
tunity to recover it. What seemed to annoy him most was the teasing
pain in his throat and his difficulty in swallowing. When these symp-
toms were prominent, the mental depression was proportionately
pronounced. His only concern was lest he might choke in his sleep.
This possibility was so constantly in his thoughts that it was frequently
necessary to comfort him with positive assurances to the contrary.
His ‘“‘choking spells” so often mentioned in the bulletins were never-
theless very distressing, and, although temporarily demoralizing to his
pluck, were never attended with immediate danger of absolute suf-
focation.

Still these conditions worried him, and it was often a matter of
surprise to those about him that he could at any time do any work
whatever. His quietly determined struggle to do his best was a whole-
some object lesson for all. For hours, while stubbornly working at his
desk, he would deny himself.a drink of water rather than trust to the
chance of special pain in swallowing it.

Although he expressed firm belief in Christianity, he was in
some sense a fatalist. Often, in speaking of his malady, he would say:
“Tt was to have been.” His was a Christianity that taught him to sub-
mit to whatever might come. Religion supported him on one side, and
philosophy on the other. Thus conditioned, he was naturally tolerant
of the views of others. Sects to him were differences in methods
rather than in principles. In speaking of this subject he remarked that
latitude in religious thought and freedom of its expression were the
foundations of true liberty in any government. The worship of God
according to conscience was also the fundamental principle of all
religions. The real point to be considered was whether a man was
doing the most with the light that was given him. The Methodist
form of worship appealed to him for its simplicity. The argument in
favor of faith in the supernatural was the peace, comfort, and safety
of its acceptance.

Although strictly reverential, he was not what might be called an
enthusiastically devout Christian. When the Rev. Dr. Newman, his
pastor and friend, called to pray with him, he was always pleased to
see him, would be the first to kneel to the devotional exercise, and
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 29

afterward would always in a quiet and humble way converse with his
spiritual adviser on spiritual affairs. There could be no doubt of a
great bond of sympathy between these two men, who, from long asso-
ciation, understood each other perfectly.

Grant's respect for religion was quite consistent with his high

 

 

 

From a photograph by Pach Bros., New York

Lieutenant Ulysses S. Grant, U.S. A. (grandson of General Grant),
when a cadet at West Point

moral attributes. It has been most truly said of him that he was never
profane or vulgar. His friends and intimates can bear ample tes-
timony to this commendable part of his private character. He had
promised his mother never to utter an oath, and had faithfully kept his
word. He could be emphatic enough in his conversation, his orders,
30 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

and his writing, to make oaths of any kind entirely unnecessary. No
one who knew the man would venture a questionable story in his
presence. On one occasion, after a dinner, a guest, in venturing an
anecdote, asked in a furtive way if any ladies were within hearing.
The General, then President of the United States, simply replied:
“No; but there are some gentlemen present,”’ and showed his readiness
to leave the room.

The other side of Grant’s character and his belief in “What was to
be, would be,”’ presented a much more positive aspect. His explana-
tions of the reasons why such should be the case were, however, more
of a material than of a spiritual character. It was his interpretation
of every-day events and of their direct relation to causes. Certainly
his own life-experiences helped to ground him in such a faith. Events
and conditions shaped themselves consistently in support of such a
view. The waiting man and his real work came together at last, and
when they did, as usually happens, there was the short circuit to fame.
The man, the gun, the aim, and the game were all in line at the proper
time. How many have tried, and how many more will try to fulfil such
conditions, and have only failure for their efforts! He would modestly
explain it from his own point of view by remarking: “It was to have
been.”

Certainly destiny appeared to control his career against many
apparent odds. The strangest fact of all is, that Grant himself, after
entering the army, never expected to be anything more than an ordi-
nary soldier, doing his duty in humble positions, until such time as
he might secure an instructorship at West Point, and enjoy a quiet,
rural home on the Hudson. He often said that, next to being a phy-
sician, such a life had been his highest ambition. What he did was
done because he could not help doing it. His life was an evolutionary
process with a sure ending in the proper choice. Fate laid hold of the
right man at last. No one could have guessed the choice amid the
parade, bluster, defeat, and failure of those who were equally promi-
nent in the earlier years of the rebellion.

No man had had a poorer chance to distinguish himself than he
after his early resignation from the army, in which he had reached the
grade of captain. It was virtually the end of his ambition for military
honors of any kind, and his only resource was to begin life again on a
farm, with hard labor and a struggle with poverty, obscurity, and dis-
couragement. No discipline could be more severe to one with even
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS er

moderate aspirations ; but he bowed to it with the becoming resignation
of a victim to uncontrollable circumstances. Impressed with the con-
viction that he had tried and failed, there was apparently nothing
ahead for him but a repetition of past experiences. Still, behind it all
was a determination to retrieve what he had lost. In such a determina-
tion there was the evidence of that staying power which afterward
made him the great man. The will was there, in spite of the disheart-
ening circumstances of his environment. His energies were loaded
for action, but the opportunity was not yet in sight.

In that period before the Civil War he was known as the quiet,
retired captain who had luck against him, and was becomingly pitied
by such as believed that there might yet be some good in him. It so
happened, however, that when military affairs were discussed in his
home town of Galena at the outbreak of the war, no one there was
better qualified to give advice in the raising and equipment of volunteer
troops. Ata public meeting he was asked to give his views. Embar-
rassed beyond measure, he modestly expressed them, and was sur-
prised to find them accepted. In promising to take part in the
movement, he was merely offering to do his bounden duty as an humble
citizen. His only ambition was to be useful in a small way. The aim
was to do diligently whatever came to hand, to work for the work’s
sake.. Such a disposition characterized all his subsequent efforts. His
highest hope at first was to be the colonel of a volunteer regiment, and
this was made barely possible to him by the number of incompetent
persons who through purely political influence had been appointed to
that position. Even when he was promoted to be a brigadier-general,
he was inclined to doubt his fitness for the responsibilities of the rank.
His father, in fact, warned him at the time not to allow any foolish
ambitions to get the better of his cooler judgment. He became so im-
pressed by the admonition that he never thought of aiming higher.
Thereafter it was to him the glory of his work rather than a reputation
for its doing. He was too busy with material results to count the
smaller vanities of their achievement.

Contact with great events gave him broad views of men and things,
and calm judgment of motives and justice, in the estimation of qualifi-
cations for action in others. His early personal experiences gave him
also a charitable feeling for failure in others. There was always a
kind word for the man who had missed his mark. The unfortunate
one was always viewed as the unlucky person who had been unable to
32 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

overcome difficulties. There was never any arrogance or pretension in

explaining his own successes. They were to him the merest accidents
of circumstances.

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Facsimile of General Grant’s letter, asking the appointment of his grandson to West Point,
with the indorsements of General Sherman and President McKinley

It was plain to see that in his estimate of the different generals
with whom he had been associated, Sherman and Sheridan took first
place. He seemed never tired of speaking of their qualities in terms of
deep affection: The first as the well-poised, stubborn, self-reliant, and
unconquerable warrior, the other as the dashing, impetuous, and irre-
sistible charger, but each incomparable in his respective line. In speak-
ing of McClellan he maintained that the course taken by him early in
the war was necessary to the end attained. McClellan was a judiciously
cautious general, was justly loved by his army, was a good disciplina-
rian, and a splendid organizer. It was excellent strategy to protect
and drill raw recruits until they were fit to take the offensive.

Contrary to what might be expected, he was very lenient in his
criticism of Butler in connection with the Dutch Gap Canal fiasco. It
may be recollected that Grant referred officially to the fact that the
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 33

enemy had corked up Butler's army as in a bottle. On asking the
General why he had used such an expression, he avowed that he had
no intention of making a severe or offensive criticism, but had merely
repeated a phrase which had been used in a personal report made by
General Barnard, his chief engineer.

For the Confederate generals he had great respect. Lee was a re-
sourceful commander, a born strategist, and a valiant fighter. Joe
Johnston showed wonderful ability, and his possible manceuvers were
always a matter of deep concern to any one about to attack him.

Stonewall Jackson had been one year at West Point when Grant
was graduated. Though viewed as a veritable crank, there seemed
even then to be something in him that would tell in the long run. When
Jackson obtained a command, his chance came. He-was of the Crom-
wellian type, believing with all his heart that God was on his side. It
was the conviction of a special mission. He imagined himself directly
chosen to maintain the right, to stand against anything and everything
wrong like the stone wall that he was.

For Buckner, who was Grant’s old-time friend, there was always a
good word, and when that officer visited Mount McGregor to tender
his sympathies, the meeting was such as might have been expected.

For Napoleon General Grant expressed no liking. He said that
Napoleon's treatment of Josephine was abominable, and admitted of
no possible excuse, and would be a blot on his character for all time.
Conceding that as a military genius Napoleon took first rank, he found
his motives grasping, arbitrary, and selfish. It was the man working
for himself rather than for his country—the use of tremendous power
for most insignificant ends. Personal ambition so overwhelmed pa-
triotism that he became a veritable “military monster.”

Cromwell he regarded as an able general and still better statesman,
and although a fanatic, he was admirably suited to the conditions of
his time.

It was evident he thought that Wellington had the fortunes of war
on his side at Waterloo, but it was by sheer force of good generalship
that he took advantage of them. Napoleon, though more than a match
for \Vellington in resources, made a fatal miscalculation. But it was
high time for Napoleon's career, based on a mere desire for personal
aggrandizement and dictatorial power, to come to an end.

The character of Lincoln was often a subject of comment, and the
General seemed always ready in his communicable moods to refer to
34 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

some peculiarity of the martyr president which showed simplicity of
demeanor and directness ot purpose. His esteem for him was un-
bounded. ‘The first time I saw President Lincoln,” he said, “I was
profoundly impressed by his modesty, sincerity, and earnestness. He
was justice, humanity, and charity all in one.”

General Grant always showed amusement in referring to Lincoln’s
humor under trying circumstances, and his great tact in easing the dis-
appointment of a candidate for office. The habit of illustrating a point
by a little story or a timely parable was one of Lincoln’s traits. He
was always ready to argue a point on such a basis, and his meaning
was seldom misunderstood. On one occasion the General himself was
the subject of one of these touches of humor. Governor Smith of
Virginia, having removed the State capitol from Richmond to Dan-
ville, after Lee’s surrender, sent a letter to General Grant, asking if
he would be permitted to exercise the functions of his office, and if not,
to leave the country unmolested by the Federal authorities. The Fed-
eral headquarters were then at Burkesville, and in the absence of Grant
in Washington, the note was received by General Meade, who imme-
diately telegraphed its contents to his commanding officer. General
Grant on meeting the President, showed him the despatch by way of
asking for instructions, but Lincoln, referring to the request to be
permitted to leave the country, gave none except as implied in the story
he told of an Irishman who was popular in Springfield, and who had
been persuaded to sign the pledge. Tiring of soda water, which he
was using as a substitute stimulant, one day, in spite of previous good
resolutions, he was strongly tempted to indulge in his old beverage,
and holding an empty tumbler behind him asked a friend if some
brandy could n’t be poured in the water “unbeknownst” to him. In
reciting this anecdote, General Grant would pose himself as Lincoln
had, by standing by a chair, placing one foot on a rung and with glass
behind him and an averted face appear to be expecting the favor.

While General Grant was in no strict sense a story-teller on his
own account, he was at times given to repeating in an effective way
the anecdotes of his friends, and quietly showed great appreciation of
the humor of the various situations. He was never tired of referring
to Lincoln’s odd and innocent mannerisms on the occasions when they
met. This, however, was always done in that loving spirit which was
the natural and instinctive outgrowth of an unquestioned admiration
for “the greatest man he had ever known.”
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Engraved on wood by T. Johnson

General Grant writing his *‘ Memoirs’ at Mount McGregor

 
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 37

In conversing even on the most serious subjects, Lincoln appeared
to forget all ordinary conventionalities in the earnestness of his pur-
pose. When sitting he had the habit of resting his legs over the arm
of a chair and swinging his feet while talking. At other times, when
squarely seated, he would clasp his flexed and upraised knee, and
gently swing himself, while intently surveying a petitioner. Lincoln
often said that an apt story was the readiest argument against a
threatened over-persuasion by a chance caller. It was a surprise to
me to learn from Grant that Lincoln never laughed at his own stories
—at least at those he told the General. At most there was a mere
twitching of a corner of the mouth anda merry twinkle in the watchful
eye.

The plainness of manner of General Grant was the result of a
natural disposition probably inherited from his mother. He showed
it in all his doings. He had accustomed himself to look at his life work
from the serious aspect of untiring and concentrated effort. It was
doing the thing rather than talking about it. Such men, appreciating
their responsibilities, are modest, reserved, thoughtful, and reticent.
The one who holds his tongue is always an enigma. Such proved
to be the case when, after his great battles, everybody was wondering
what he had to say for himself. But the results needed no discus-
sion. His natural shyness was beyond the temptation of vainglory.
In all his lesser work he was always the same quiet and unobtrusive
person.

There was a natural antipathy against display of any kind. Dress
parade never appealed to him. In his ordinary dress he was the
plainest of men. Although always neat in person, he never affected
anything but the simplest attire. His aim was for ease, not show. In
most of his portraits there is a conspicuous absence of military prim-
ness. His coat is usually open, and even his waistcoat is partly unbut-
toned. The standing collar is conveniently bent and flared to allow of
ease of flexion of his short neck, and his cravat is a mere ribbon with a
carelessly tied bow-knot. Except for his sturdy build, firm jaw, and
resolute mouth, there was nothing particularly soldier-like in his
appearance. In the ordinary dress of a well-to-do citizen he might
have been taken as readily for a successful merchant or a prosperous
gentleman farmer as for a great man of affairs. He was accustomed
to assume easy attitudes while seated. It was relaxation rather than
erectness. His favorite sitting posture was bent and lounging, with
38 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

hands on the arms of the chair, one leg crossed over the other. When
in deep thought he would sometimes rest his bent elbows on the arms
of the chair and steady his hands on the tops of his fingers. In writ-
ing, he would sit at the table sidewise and to the right, so that he could
accommodate himself to his favorite cross-legged position. Although
his delicate hand would hold his pen with easy suppleness and graceful
poise, his handwriting was by no means a work of art. It was inclined
to be rapid and jerky, as if the mechanical execution was irksome.
Thus he would often omit ‘crossing his t’s, and dotting his i's, and
would occasionally spell incorrectly. He evidently preferred a lead-
pencil to a pen as giving him less trouble, and as obviating the con-
stant interruption of dipping for ink.

His methods in composing were also exceedingly simple. Environ-
ment had no influence on him. He could write anywhere and anyhow,
with pad on knee, against a tree, or on a camp-chest. So at home,
wherever he might be, no accessories were essential. He wrote his
memoirs on an extemporized table which had folding legs, and could
be easily moved from one part of the room to another. All he needed
was his pad, his notes, and a few sheets of plain manila paper. He was
a slow and painstaking composer, his aim being to make himself clear
to the reader. After a long and studied effort in framing a descriptive
sentence, he would read it to his friends with all the modesty of a

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Facsimile of a conversational note from General Grant to Dr. Shrady. (See page 68)
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 39

school-boy reciting a lesson. .\ pertinent question from them would
give him the hint he required.

At times he could work with ordinary rapidity, but often would
devote hours to a short description of a complicated battle. He often
referred to Sherman’s “Memoirs,” refreshing his memory on points
that he might have missed in relating his own story. It was fortunate
for him that early in his sickness he became thoroughly absorbed in
authorship. It opened to him an entirely new field for diversion, and
enabled him to get away from himself and for a time to forget the
advance of his relentless malady.

His style was simple, terse, and devoid of pedantic ornamentation,
and was founded in a literary way on the practice of writing military
orders and reports, short, sharp, perspicuous, and to the point. Now
and then there was a stroke of humor in his references, but even this
lacked the suppleness and art of a practised touch. Not that he did not
appreciate humor: but he was not always happy in giving it a graceful
turn. It was the man speaking for himself without special training in
literary work. In this respect his modest narrative holds a distinct
place in literary history. His aim was to make every reader under-
stand what he meant to say. That the composition of the book was
peculiarly his own no one can doubt.

With those who understood him, General Grant was always frank,

 

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Facsimile of a conversational note from General Grant to Dr. Shrady. (See page 68)
40 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

courteous, and unassuming. In conversation he was a considerate and
patient listener. His comments were brief and modest, but showed a
ready grasp of the subject in hand. It was seldom that he branched
into any extended discussion, being more inclined in his terse way to
dissent from or agree with the views of others rather than to volunteer
any new phase of the question. He apparently weighed matters quite
deliberately from his own point of view as a man accustomed to plan
for himself. While he was ready to admit there was another side to
an argument, his own position was well guarded. As in the fighting
of his battles, this was the developed caution of judicious antagonism.
Even when pleasantly chided for his apparently stubborn attitude, he
had in reserve a ready answer for the disputer.

An amusing illustration comes to mind in this connection. Mrs.
Grant was on one occasion mildly complaining of the General’s incon-
sistency and want of forethought when matters purely domestic were
to be considered. “When President Garfield was shot,” said she, “we
were living at Long Branch, New Jersey. The General insisted that I
should move the entire family to New York without delay and sug-
gested the possibility of its being done within two days. When I told
him of the impossibility of such a procedure on such short notice, he
rather tantalizingly said that he did not see why there should be much
difficulty in the matter as he had moved at least twice that number of
people in half the time.” The General, who was listening to this illus-
tration of his thoughtlessness, while keenly amused at the humor of the
situation, was apparently quite contented tacitly to acknowledge the
playful rebuke.

He was earnestly sympathetic, without being effusively senti-
mental. Always considerate of the rights and privileges of others,
there was in him an unassuming way of acknowledging them. For
children he had an almost affectionate regard, and was always pleased
to meet and chat with them. There was something in their innocence
and playfulness that appealed to him. Of boys he was especially fond,
and would talk to them in a kind, frank, and fatherly way. On one
occasion the young son of Dr. Titus Munson Coan, who had been a
Navy surgeon, was introduced to him. The lad was six years old, and
his father had solicited the introduction through a friend of the Grant
family. While the youngster was waiting in the reception-room below,
word was sent to him to come to the sick-room. He was shown up-
stairs, and was greeted by the General as courteously and deferentially
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 41

as if he were one of the great men of the time. Sick as he was, the
invalid rose from his chair and with extended hand and pleasant smile
walked nearly half-way across the room to meet his young visitor, who
was overawed, and bereft of all power of speech.

MW: eal bl fornel £) oto

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Facsimile of a conversational note from General Grant to Dr. Shrady. (See page 71)

Pia eer

“T am glad to see you, my little man,” said the General. Philip
Coan timidly responded to the greeting and murmured a “Thank you,”
as he stared at the kindly face that was bent over him. “What are you
going to be, my son, when you are grown up—a soldier or a doctor?”

To the question there was no answer, and the General, fully under-
standing the bashfulness of the boy, took his hand and gently smooth-
ing his head bade him call again. For the youngster it was a thing
long to be remembered; for the plain man in his yellow gown it was the
display of a simple and fatherly feeling which was his habit and
delight.

His consideration for young people was also strikingly illustrated
by his courteous and cordial reception of my daughter Minnie, then a
mere girl, and whom he had expressed a special desire to see. Before
she was ushered into his room he rose to change his wrapper for his
frock-coat, being determined to be presentable when, as he naively
said, “young ladies called’ on him. When I protested that this was
entirely unnecessary in such a case, he insisted upon having his way.
In referring to the fine weather he asked her, with mock seriousness,
42 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

if she did not think her father was cruel in keeping him confined to his
room and in exercising on him such a domineering spirit, pleading that
she should use her influence to have the sentence mitigated. This at
once placed the young visitor on an easy conversational plane, and the
expected embarrassment of the occasion was happily dispelled. ‘“How-
ever it may be,” he remarked, “I have always been used to obeying the
man in command.”

Although General Grant had the reputation of being more than
trustful with his friends, his other relations with men and affairs im-
pressed him at times with the desire of many to use him for their own
purposes. In spite of his habitual shyness, he was forced by circum-
stances to admit that he was a public character and that all his doings
were measured in the exacting balance of propriety and policy. This
thought kept him more or less on his guard with strangers. He was
thus forced to question the usual motives that governed the appeals of
outsiders, and was often surprised at the comparatively trivial circum-
stances that governed them. On one occasion an importunate army
veteran succeeded in gaining an audience with him in his sick-room on
the plea of inquiring about his health and of bringing a message from
an army comrade. In the course of the conversation the General asked
in a friendly way concerning his visitor’s occupation, when he was
informed of a wonderful meat extract for which the man was an
agent. True to the instincts of the vendor, the article was produced,
and the usual samples were thrust upon the patient.

Many other agents, however, were not so fortunate in introducing
their wares. Many samples were sent by express to the house, accom-
panied by absurd stories as to their virtues. To gratify a craze for
notoriety, numbers of people who had no personal acquaintance with
the sick man would ostentatiously call, and after leaving their cards at
the door, would yield to the eager questioning of the reporters.

Always considerate for others, Grant was inclined to be more than
charitable in his interpretation of apparently interested motives. Asa
public man he was accustomed to meet the ordinary place-hunter with
a quid pro quo. From such a point of view he had abundance of op-
portunities for studying human character when it was actuated by
purely selfish interest. Modest in his own claims, he was slow to be
impressed with the person who lauded his own superior fitness for
position. Thus it soon became known that he selected his advisers and
those closest to him in official capacity by his own estimate of their
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 43

merit. He picked his men as a skilled workman would his tools. And
the public was not slow in crediting his capacity and discernment for
such purposes.

At one time several of his political enemies opprobriously termed
him the “gift-taker,” so numerous were these apparently friendly
offers made to him, and frankly accepted in good faith, as evidences of
personal esteem. After a while he began to interpret intentions from
an entirely different point of view. In this connection I recollect his
reference to a gift from a gentleman in Chicago that was so purely a
friendly one that the donor had neither before nor after asked him for
a favor. nae ee

While always studiously courteous to strangers, acknowledging
their respectful salutes and ever ready to show them polite attentions,
he not infrequently resented any ill-bred attempts at familiarity. He
was so considerate in this regard himself that he would not tolerate
any breach of ordinary etiquette by others. On one occasion, while on
a ferry-boat crossing the river from Jersey City, he was quietly enjoy-
ing his cigar in the smoking saloon when an impudent and loud-
speaking young man sat down by him and said familiarly: “Good
morning, General. I’m glad to see you looking so well.” The saluta-
tion was returned in a studiously formal manner. “You still like your
smoke, I see.” A look, but no answer. “Say, General, can’t you give
a fellow a light?”

The General, surprised and annoyed, handed his cigar to the
stranger, who in due time returned it, much the worse for the fumbling
it had received. Whereupon the General, on receiving it, looked at it
for a moment, and then quite unconcernedly threw it out of a window
at his back. .

Grant’s love for the horse was a veritable passion, and dated from
boyhood. At West Point, Cadet Grant was the best rider in his class.
In after life to own a trotter was always a temptation. After he be-
came famous, and his taste was known, he had many opportunities for
testing his skill in driving noted animals, as when Mr. Vanderbilt’s
“Maud S.” was lent to him fora spin. “The finest mare I ever drove,”
Grant would say. On one occasion, at least, he met a driver who
valiantly vindicated the rights of the road in a way that quite aston-
ished him. While spending a summer in Long Branch, the General
would take a daily drive behind a noted trotter. By courtesy, although
often against his wish, he was always given a free and open course.
44 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

One day while quietly jogging along he noticed in a casual way a
farmer and his wife who, with single horse and errand-wagon, were
just ahead, evidently returning from market. On attempting to “draw
alongside” and pass the couple, there was a race on in a moment.
The farmer simply chirped in a peculiar way, and his horse squatted
into a long-gaited and easy trot. Altogether it was a veritable sur-
prise to the other driver, with his “professional trotter” and light
road-wagon. But the farmer kept the lead in spite of Grant’s efforts
to overtake him. Occasionally through the dust he could see the
farmer’s wife look back to note their relative positions. Finally, after
a mile heat, the farmer “slowed up” a little to allow the General to
come within hearing distance.

“Did heknow who it was, General?” Grant was asked.

“Oh, yes,” he replied. “The man simply said, ‘General, you ‘ve got
a good one,’ and then I allowed him to go on.”

In referring to courage in battle, Grant was inclined to believe that
it was a cultivated quality rather than an inherent trait. The instinct
of self-preservation was inborn, and was governed by natural im-
pulses. There was always a great difference between foolhardiness
and a dutiful effort to face danger in any form. A genuine scare was
the first and the best lesson. There were few men who were not in-
clined to run when they heard whistling bullets for the first time. The
fear of being called a coward was then the main thing that held them.
The courage that lasted was that which thoroughly appreciated danger
and boldly faced it. He confessed to this as a personal experience. His
first engagements were matters of discipline in this regard. The only
‘comfort was in the hope that the enemy might be the one who was
more afraid than he was, and would decamp first. He realized such a
possibility in his early military career, and always afterward kept it in
mind when in a tight place. A man was often like a skittish horse:
he must first be made to see and approach the object of his fear; and
thereafter he might “duly exercise his horse sense.”

The story of General Grant’s sick-room was, as all the world knows,
a sad one. With no desire to display the harrowing side of his phys-
ical suffering, I still wish to describe the manner in which he bore his
trials under the many adverse circumstances which tested to the
utmost his remarkable fortitude, stubbornness of will, and Christian
philosophy. His wonderful self-control, which seldom deserted him,
not only made him the least complaining, but the most dutiful, of
 

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GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 47

patients. The study of his different moods in his long wait for death
was a revelation in resignation which could never go unheeded. To
fit oneself to the burden of sickness requires time and patience. It
was at first hard for him to submit to the inevitable. View the situa-
tion as he might, there was still the ominous shadow over his imme-
diate future. The willing submission to fate strains the strongest
philosophy. Still, like others under like circumstances, he resolved to
face the enemy, and trust to adapting himself to new conditions. This
explained his deep gloom when the real nature of his malady was first
announced to him. It was this discipline that was necessary for the
few working days left to him. The only relief in the situation was to
make the most of the remaining opportunities, and stubbornly persist
to the end. Then came the reaction that readjusted the burden. Becom-
ing more used to the mental depression, it was the more easily borne.
He admitted the fact, and bravely trudged along under heavy marching
orders. This desirable change for the better was duly noted by those
around him, and every effort was made by them to divert his mind into
new channels of thought. It thus became his necessity to devote him-
self afresh to the completion of his memoirs.

In spite of the calm manner in which he would discuss his fate, it
was evident that he resolved to be prepared for every emergency. He
seemed more eager than ever to do things on the spur of the moment,
in order that nothing should be left undone toward the last. This dis-
position was illustrated in him when he was asked for a picture of
himself with his autograph. This particular instance may be worthy
of special record, inasmuch as it may be associated in times to come
with another incident of historical interest in his own family. Al-
though still feeble from his recent set-back, the General walked at once
to the adjoining room, sat down at his table, turned to Colonel Grant,
who was near, and said, “Bring me one of the Marshall pictures for
the Doctor.” The selection of the particular engraving proved his
preference for it. Whenever he presented a picture of himself to any
of his close friends, it was always a copy of the engraving by William
E. Marshall.

I then suggested that the General might sign one for each of the
other members of the medical staff—Doctors Douglas, Sands, and
Barker. This he accordingly did, the Colonel carefully arranging
them on the table for the signatures to dry.

When the General was about to rise, the son in a quiet and impres-
48 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

sive manner said: “Father, I would like you to sign this also,” at the
same time handing him a letter. This was a letter to some future
President, asking him to appoint the General’s grandson, Ulysses
third, to West Point. Without dipping his pen in ink again, the Gen-
eral attached his name to this letter. It was done quietly, but in view
of the circumstances, the action was dramatic. Young Ulysses, the
son of Colonel Grant, was then a mere boy. We all knew that when
the letter should be presented, General Grant would have been many
years in his grave. It was only a question of months, perhaps weeks,
when the hand that held the pen would be stilled forever. Altogether
it was a situation that had in it much pathos. It meant a benediction
for the future soldier. I believe the others must have been equally
impressed, for after the scratching of the pen had ceased there was
absolute silence in the room while Colonel Grant carefully folded the
letter and gently led his father away.
 

 

 

Ill

a ENERAL GRANTS voice was soft, deep, and distinct,
and his speech deliberate, quiet, and even-toned. In
¥ conversation he was inclined to use short sentences,
with few if any qualifications. It was an effort to get
at the point in the surest and most direct way. He was
always ready to hear the views of others. His apparently indifferent
manner and abstracted air were apt to impress the speaker as lack of
attention. But this seemed to be his method of absorbing things. Then
would come a string of pertinent questions, which proved conclusively
that he had not lost a point. He was by no means inclined to long
argument, and much less to disputation. Having once made up his
mind on a subject, he was silent, stubborn, and determined.

His temper was under such complete control that no one could
believe he had any. Never openly demonstrative in any direction, he
appeared the same under all conditions. When he was depressed, he
was simply silent; when he was cheerful, he merely smiled. Even in
his best moods I never heard him laugh outright. Thus he was in no
sense emotionally demonstrative, and in his natural composure he
exemplified the highest type of cultivated gentility. His little manner-
isms were in no way eccentric or peculiar. These were only interesting
as giving casual expression to his individuality.

Not long before he was taken ill, he was lamed by a fall on his hip,
and was obliged to walk with a cane. Although many ornamental
walking-sticks had been presented to him by fairs, military societies,
49

 
50 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

ladies, and his many personal friends, he preferred to use a plain hick-
ory one with ordinary curved handle. This was in constant use
wherever he went, even in going from one room to another.

When he dozed in a sitting position, his hands would be crossed in
his lap, his head would be bowed, and his feet would rest on the chair
opposite him. When lying in bed or on a lounge, he still retained the
soldier fashion of merely covering the lower portion of his body, and
seemed to prefer resting squarely on his back.

In his various movements there was no approach to awkwardness.
His hands were always easily composed, were seldom used in gesture,
and were supple and firm in their grasp. His tread was also firm, and
his step had an easy stride, notwithstanding his temporary limp.

A slow and careful reader, he appeared to weigh every word, and
would often keep the place in the line by his pointed finger, and look
away as if to fix more firmly in his mind the idea conveyed.

_ His sleep was often disturbed by dreams, but they were the reflex
of his physical conditions. At one time an extra pain in his throat gave
him the impression of having been hit in the neck with a cannon-ball.
On another occasion he dreamed of being choked by a footpad on a
lonely road.

His eyesight was remarkably clear for distant objects, as was often
demonstrated in the broad outlooks from Mount McGregor. This was
evidently due, in part at least, to his military training in that respect.
In using a field-glass, one hand was sufficient, the focal adjustment
being made by his forefinger and thumb. This, too, was plainly the
unconscious outcome of long practice. Glasses were always necessary
for reading or writing, his preference being for ordinary horn-rimmed
spectacles with large, round eyepieces.

When rumors were current of the impending death of the General,
no efforts were spared by the press of the country to obtain accurate
information of his actual condition. For a time it was reported that
he was merely suffering from a chronic throat affection that promised
soon to be relieved. But it was not until the formal consultation was
held in his case, months after his first symptoms appeared, that the
public was officially informed of the grave and fatal character of his
malady. From that time every symptom as given in the bulletin was
freely discussed. After a period of private life as an ordinary citizen,
he was again an object of absorbing interest. So long accustomed to
be in the public eye, he viewed the situation as a matter of course, and
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JOSIIN Ij JUNOP Je 9Be}09 [axa1q ay} jo ezzeid ay} uo

5 &q ydesrSoj0y

dv uo.

 

 

 

 

 
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 52

resignedly submitted to the elaborate, fulsome, and often exaggerated
accounts of his behavior in the sick-room. To meet this urgent demand
for details, he was forced to consent to the issue of bulletins to the
general public. It was only by such means that the truth could be told
and curiosity satisfied.

The proper preparation of the press-notices was a matter of great
moment with the medical staff. Bearing in mind the many mistakes
made in the case of President Garfield, in which contradictory and
misleading bulletins were published, it was deemed imperative to state
exact facts, with the full sanction of the medical men in attendance
and also that of the family. The arrangements for the distribution of
these despatches were elaborate and systematic. Three bulletin-boys
were in constant attendance in the main hall, representing respectively
the \Western Union telegraph and cable service, the Associated Press,
and the United Press. Each message, appropriately directed, was
passed to the proper messenger, who would run with it to the nearest
office of his company.

The general clearing-house for news was in the basement of a
small house on the east side of Madison Avenue south of Sixty-sixth
Street, and there were assembled the representatives of the Associated
Press and the different leading dailies of the city. All the newspapers
also had special wires to their central downtown offices. Reporters
“covering the case’’ were so constantly on guard in the street that it
seemed impossible for anything of importance to occur in the house
without their knowledge. At the end of every consultation there was
a group of anxious interviewers, who plied the medical men with ques-
tions. .As there was never any other disposition than to tell the plain
truth of the situation, all necessary satisfaction regarding the true
import of the bulletins was easily obtained. Each journalist was con-
stantly on the alert for new facts, his aim being to use them exclu-
sively, and thus, in press parlance, to “beat” his confréres. To that end
all sorts of devices were used. The doctors were specially besieged
even in their homes; more than once inside facts were obtained by
sending “dummy” patients, who, pretending to fear a similar disease
to that of Grant, would ask many pertinent questions as to the nature
of such a malady and its usual ending. Then, to the astonishment and
dismay of the doctor, the conversation would appear as a formal news-
paper interview.

There was scarcely a limit to the endeavors of such enterprising
54 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

news-gatherers. One of them, in order to gain a vantage-ground over
his fellows, ventured affectionate advances to a chambermaid in one of
the houses opposite, so that while calling upon his new acquaintance,
he might have a better opportunity of watching from a commanding
window. Another bribed one of the servants of the Grant domicile in
order to gain access to the back yard and signal to a mounted con-
federate who was watching on Fifth Avenue across the then vacant lot
on the corner.

As at that time, although for no obvious reason, the death of the
General was momentarily expected, it was considered a matter of the
greatest importance to get the earliest possible news of the sad event.
For this purpose relays were constantly posted to keep watch. In
stormy weather these men would take shelter in the areaways under
the stoops, and would dodge out when a carriage approached the house
or a visitor mounted the doorsteps. The lighting of any room but the
sick chamber would call together a group of sentinels on the opposite
side of the street, who would pace up and down the sidewalk often
during the entire night, awaiting some new development.

For obvious reasons no unfavorable change in symptoms was dis-
cussed in the presence of the General, and it was only after the official
bulletins were published that he had knowledge of the fact. As he
insisted on reading his favorite papers, there was no way of keeping
him in desirable ignorance of his actual condition. He would study
the accounts with great care, and put his own interpretation on their
significance. This disposition was in keeping with that of his habit of
noting his pulse-beat by his watch while a consultation was in progress.

He was often much amused by the stories told of him, of his habits,
plans, and moods, but was always willing to forgive the newsmongers
for what they did not know. At other times he appeared to be much
saddened by the gloomy prognostications that were ventured in the
various papers. After reading one of the bulletins he was constrained
to remark: “Doctor, you did not give a very favorable account of me
yesterday.” ‘This was in spite of the fact that every care was taken to
prevent alarm on his account as to his actual condition.

With a slowly progressing disease it was natural to expect that the
bulletins would have a certain sameness of description and a monotony
of weary hopefulness. Many of the newspapers were constantly
straining a point to infuse a sensational element into their reports.
The plain truth did not offer enough for varied and spicy reading.
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 55

Then came the reaction of the disappointment, with a suspicion that
the doctors had given false reports and that there had been a grave
mistake in the diagnosis of the original disease. This was made prob-
able by the fact that many of the distressing symptoms had disap-
peared for a time, and also by the anxious but ill-founded expectation
that the General would ultimately recover, in spite of previous predic-
tions. Although it was a matter for congratulation that such a tem-
porary relief from suffering had been gained, there was never any
change of opinion with the staff regarding the
true nature of the malady. Once the dif-
ficulty in swallowing had so far disappeared
that the patient ven- ‘tured to indulge in
solid food. He was so delighted with such an
opportunity that while lunching on a mutton
chop in his dining- room, he felicitated
himself on being able to surprise the report-
ers with his ability to perform what he con-
sidered a remarkable feat. But, alas! this
ability was short-lived, and was a mere chance

 

 

 

 

 

-From a photograph by Gilman

Exterior of the Drexel cottage,

occasion in the long Mount McGregor, struggle with over-
strained expectations. ene The General was too
firmly settled in the belief of the real na-

ture of his malady to be influenced by the critical tone of the press
regarding the alleged incompetence of his physicians. These attacks
were not only abusive in the extreme, but oftentimes they were posi-
tively libelous. One morning after one of these articles had appeared
in an editorial in one of the New York dailies, the General, who was
an attentive student of the discussion, asked me how I felt after such
a virulent attack on my professional character. When I answered to
the effect that the staff was right despite the criticism, he so far ac-
quiesced as to say that he was perfectly satisfied with the medical
treatment of his case, and that he was the person who naturally was
most interested in the course taken.

This comment led to a question as to how he had treated the many
newspaper criticisms to which he had been subjected in his long public
career. He remarked simply that he never read the papers containing
them, and was always too busy with more important matters to notice
the vaporings of scribblers who were willing to give free and valueless
lessons on matters of which they knew little or nothing. “If a man
56 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

assumes the responsibility of doing a thing,” continued he, “he natu-
rally does it his own way, and the result is the only proof, after all, that
he may be right or wrong. One does the work, and the other does the
guessing.”

When the tables were turned against the doctors, ridiculing bulle-
tins were printed, to give new point to the situation. In violation of all
principles of good taste, the relations of medical attendant and patient
were reversed, and Grant was represented as resenting the officiousness
of the doctors by a promise to aid in restoring their weak mental and
physical conditions. From the first the staff was accused of magnify-
ing the situation, and much felicitation was manifested by many news-
paper writers that the trick had at last been discovered. Outside
friends of the family covertly advised a change of medical consultants,
and numerous applications to such an end came from influential poli-
ticians throughout the country. So annoying were these importunities,
that the General became personally interested in declaring his con-
fidence in the men whom he himself had selected. He appeared to be
particularly indignant at the charge that there had been an error in
diagnosis, and asked that the true state of facts be explained to the
public in a long bulletin, which was published after receiving his ap-
proval.

The publication of this document had the desired effect of silencing
further criticism on the subject. It seemed then impossible to start a
quarrel among the physicians in attendance, and the usual medical
scandal in a case of such national interest was thus most happily
averted. This result was also in great part due to the care to state only
the exact truth in all the bulletins, and to obtain a unanimity of opinion
from the entire staff before publication was permitted. Whatever
misconception by the public might have existed of the true condition of
affairs in the sick-room was due to the statements of visitors to the
house who would give their personal views concerning the condition
of the patient to the crowd of interviewers who awaited them on the
sidewalk. The absurd story that the General was at one time suffering
merely from an ordinary inflammation of the throat gained currency
in this way, and gave the first impression that the physicians had
unduly alarmed the public. The General himself always took a re-
signed and philosophical view of the situation. His simple wishes
were to be free from constant pain, to be able to swallow his food with-
out strangling, and to make the most of the time that was left him
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 57

to finish his work. He was virtually in the position of one who was
settling his affairs before starting on a forced journey. His habit of
mind made such resignation possible. Long accustomed to take his
life in his hands and to face death in the emergencies of battle, he was
not one to manifest fear when the end seemed inevitable. He would
often speak of it with a calmness that could not be shaken. He was
simply living each day by itself in the hope that there would be no
distressful struggle at the last. His apprehensions in this regard were
reasonably well founded, as in his inquiring way he reasoned that the
progress of the ailment would either arrest his breathing or prevent his
taking proper nourishment.

It was fortunate under the circumstances that his thought was
centered on his “Memoirs,” inasmuch as when he forced himself to
write or dictate he was thus able to distract his attention from his
condition. Hence every encouragement was given him to do as he
pleased in such regard. He often remarked that his book was destined
to be his own salvation as well as that of his family. Thus he would sit
and write when most men would have been abed and under the in-
fluence of an anodyne.

The General’s concern for help, when his time should come for
needing it, was often manifested in what might otherwise have ap-
peared to be casual conversations. In an impressive talk with me on
one occasion, he obtained a promise that I would be with him without
fail at the last. So anxious was he that nothing should interfere with
such an understanding, that he questioned me concerning my where-
abouts and future plans in my necessary absences from Mount Mc-
Gregor. On learning that my summer home was at my farm on the
Hudson, near Kingston, he was particular to learn how long it would
take me to reach him in response to an urgent message. After cross-
ing the river, the railroad starting-point would be Barrytown. He
wished to know the distance from that point to Poughkeepsie, where a
special locomotive could be obtained. Then, in order to master every
detail of the trip, he indicated the route on a piece of wrapping-paper,
and smilingly styled it “a working plan of battle.’ Alas! he had
planned many such before, but none in which he could have been more
personally interested. I was quite surprised at his knowledge of the
topography of the country and his appreciation of relative distances.
A line was made across the river to Barrytown, a spur to Pough-
keepsie, a straight course northward through Hudson, Albany, and
58 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

 

 

 

 

 

From a photograph by Gilinan

The sick-room in the Drexel cottage, Mount McGregor

The two large chairs were General Grant’s bed. The cabinet in the corner contained linen,
medicine, and other articles used by the General.

Saratoga, and a slight detour to McGregor. The probable time be-
tween these places was duly indicated at proper points, and the total
added at the bottom of the sheet. What became of this paper, which
was evidently Grant’s last “plan of battle,” I did not ascertain. He
simply folded it, and placed it in a side pocket, and there was no sub-
sequent occasion for referring to the subject in my presence.

With the first formal consultation of the surgical staff, the ad-
visability of an operation was thoroughly discussed, and arguments
were made against any such efforts to relieve him. Thus the treatment
of the case was narrowed to such efforts as might be necessary to
guard against possible complications and to make him as comfortable
as possible by assuaging his pain and keeping his throat clear of an
accidental accumulation of secretions. The wisdom of such a decision
was manifested in sparing him unnecessary mutilation and allowing
him to pass the remainder of his days in comparative comfort. Rela-
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 59

tively, however, it meant suffering for him until the end. His great
apprehension was that he might be suddenly choked during his sleep.
After a severe spell of threatened suffocation during the night of
March 2oth, this became a fixed conviction. Although quickly relieved
at the time, he became so much demoralized concerning a possible re-
currence of such troubles, that he passed his days and nights thereafter
in a sitting position, with his feet resting on a chair.

The hurried call for Dr. Douglas and myself at the time of his first
choking spell so alarmed the reporters on watch in the street that they
gave currency to the probability that the General was in a very critical
condition and that his death might be expected at any hour. Later, a
similar announcement was made, based upon the occurrence of an
accidental hemorrhage from the throat due to the separation of an
inflammatory exudation that for days had clogged his breathing. The
bleeding was quickly arrested by simple means, and he then felt so
much relieved in his breathing and his increased ability to swallow that
many of his friends believed that he might actually conquer the orig-
inal disease. The press was also eager to adopt this optimistic view,

 

 

 

 

 

From a photograph by Gilman

The room in which General Grant died

This room was the “parlor” of the Drexel cottage, Mount McGregor. The bed in the corner
was placed there only a short time before General Grant’s death, as he had been
sleeping in a sitting posture in the chairs shown on the previous page.

4
60 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

and it required no little persuasion on the part of the staff to assure the
public that, in spite of the temporary change for the better, all the
symptoms were progressing slowly to the inevitable end.

Only on one occasion had there been any danger of sudden col-
lapse, and this was on the night of April 5th, when the General,
believing he was dying, summoned his family to his chair and asked
that Dr. Newman, his faithful minister and friend, should baptize him.
‘The sinking spell occurred about three o’clock in the morning. There
was warning of this possible condition during the previous day, and it
was deemed best that I should remain at the house in case any threat-
ened change for the worse should show itself. While Dr. Douglas
was watching the patient, | was hastily summoned from an adjoining
bedroom by the startling announcement that the General was dying.
The sufferer was evidently in an extremely weak condition. He was
sitting in his chair as usual, with head bowed on chest, and was breath-
ing in a labored way, feebly bidding farewell to his family, and striving
to leave final directions regarding the completion of the second volume
of his “Memoirs.” His voice was scarcely audible, and his sentences
were interrupted by painful gaspings for breath. The Rev. Dr. New-
man was standing behind the chair with a small silver bowl in hand,
repeating in solemn tones: ‘Ulysses Simpson Grant, I baptize thee in
the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.” The General feebly
responded, “I thank you,” and was evidently becomingly impressed
with the solemnity of the proceeding. During this affecting scene hypo-
dermics of brandy were repeatedly administered, and to the bystanders
it appeared as if the sufferer had been almost miraculously snatched
from death. In fact, it was so reported to the press, and much was
made of a very ordinary method of treatment in such cases. Dr. New-
man was especially astonished at the sudden change for the better, and
emphatically remarked that it was due to the prayer that had just been
offered. With a similar gratification in the physical responsiveness of
the patient, I was inclined to attribute the result to the brandy. This
circumstance afforded the press a fine opportunity for discussing the
relative merits of prayer and brandy, and for a long time many oppo-
site views on the question were freely ventilated.

Virtually confined to his room during his stay in Sixty-sixth Street,
General Grant would sometimes realize the irksomeness of his con-
dition, and strive to amuse himself by walking from one apartment to
the other, playing solitaire by his open fire, viewing the watching
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 61

crowds on the street below, or welcoming some of the many friends
who came to sympathize with him. Occasionally a parading regiment
would halt opposite the house and present arms, whereupon he would
appear at his window and modestly and sadly acknowledge the salute.

On his last Easter Sunday there was more than the usual gathering
on the street and opposite sidewalk. The General was much impressed
by this evidence of good feeling toward himself. For a while he stood
silent at the window, and after walking back and forth through the
room, sat by the fire, absorbed in deep thought. Only the Wednesday
previous he had fallen almost into a state of collapse, and had reason
to realize how near he had come to death. Although he had fully
rallied, he was still in that state of mind in which he was keenly alive
to every evidence of sympathy. Also, only the dav before, he had re-
ceived a very friendly and condolatory letter from Jefferson Davis,
which gratified and touched him deeply. After a while, feeling tired,
he slept in his chair. During that time there was a slight shower,
and the numerous gatherings of people scattered in different direc-
tions. When he awoke, the rain had ceased, and the street became
more crowded than ever, the police being kept busy in clearing the
roadway for passing vehicles and for the carriages of visitors to the
house.

When he awoke, I told him what had occurred, and referred to the
interest that was manifested by all classes of citizens. He walked to
the window, looked upon the crowd below, and sadly remarked: “Yes,
I am very grateful for their sympathy.” Then taking his seat by the
fire, he was quiet again. As I was preparing to write the usual after-
noon bulletin, | suggested that the opportunity would be a good one
for him to express his gratitude to the people of the country, especially
on Easter Sunday, when all the churches had been offering pravers on
his account. I urged that the bulletin be dictated in the first person,
and signed by General Grant, as in such form it would appear as com-
ing more directly from him. To this suggestion, however, he objected,
saying that it would be better coming from him indirectly. In order to
comply with such a wish, and give the document somewhat the char-
acter of a message from the sick-room, I began by saying that General
Grant had just awakened from a short nap and had expressed himself
as feeling comfortable. He then dictated the following: “He wishes
it stated that he is very much touched by, and very grateful for, the
sympathy and interest manifested for him by his friends,’’—here he
62 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

hesitated for a while and continued,—‘“‘and by those who have not been
regarded as such.”

Impressed with the great significance of the message, I still urged
that he should say something in the first person. ‘‘Well,” remarked
he, “you might say for me, I desire the good-will of all, whether here-
tofore friends or not.’”’ In a moment he added, “I suppose that will

 

 

 

 

 

The funeral procession up Fifth Avenue

The catafalque bearing the body of General Grant is shown nearing Thirty-fourth Street,
in front of the Astor residences.

do,” and I accordingly signed the bulletin, giving the hour as 5:15 P. M.
The despatch was immediately sent to the press-bureau on Madison
Avenue, and quickly put upon the wires. As this bulletin really came
from the General himself, and was duly approved by him, no family or
staff consultation on its contents was deemed necessary. It happened,
however, that a different course would have avoided a subsequent
complication which gave the Associated Press some trouble to over-
come. A few minutes after the bulletin had been sent, Mrs. Grant
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 63

came into the room, and she was told what had been done, and the
message was read to her. She then very much deplored the omission
of any reference to the numerous prayers that had been offered for the
General on that day, and insisted that the bulletin be recalled, in order
that the necessary correction might be made. This, for the time being,
seriously complicated the situation. The message was already in the
hands of the telegraph and cable operators, and was being rapidly
transmitted to the numerous bulletin stations. To reconstruct it, and
retain its full meaning, would have altered its original purpose. Be-
sides, any attempt in such a direction would not be understood by the
public, and would give a false impression of the original intention of
the sender. It was then a question of altering the bulletin as little as
possible, and thus avoiding unnecessary complications. Mrs. Grant
was very insistent, however, in regard to the propriety of her proposi-
tion. At this juncture I suggested that the difficulty might be over-
come by inserting the word “prayerful” before sympathy. This being
agreed to, I, at the General’s suggestion, communicated at once with
the press-bureau on Madison Avenue, and the required word was
added to the various despatches that had already been transmitted.

Meanwhile, the press-agents had been much exercised regard-
ing the reason for recalling a bulletin that contained so much of “news
interest.” Mr. Frank W. Mack, who had charge of the Associated
Press agency, was greatly alarmed, supposing that some extraordi-
nary calamity had occurred. He hurried to the house, thinking that the
General had died suddenly after the message had been dictated.
“What can be done?” said he. ‘The bulletin is now in San Francisco
—in fact, all over the country and in Europe! When I told him of
the mere addition of an extra word to the context, he was much re-
lieved, and hastened to comply with the request of the General.

As was anticipated, the bulletin attracted more than ordinary at-
tention. The Southern papers particularly had many kind comments
on the motives actuating the message, and more than ever sympathized
with the stricken man, who could so feelingly voice the sentiments of
a kind and noble heart. Repeated references were made by them to
the General’s magnanimous proposals when accepting Lee’s surrender
at Appomattox, and to other actions of his in keeping with the senti-
ments of a high-minded and generous victor. With him war had a
different definition from mere enmity. It meant fidelity to a principle,
not mere death, destruction, and humiliation for the opponent. The
64. GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

hand that had so valiantly held the sword was then open to all,
“whether heretofore friends or not.” The dying man had said, “Let
us have peace,” and posterity was destined to cherish the sentiment as
the best of all inscriptions for the tomb at Riverside.

With the approach of warm weather there were many suggestions
concerning the advisability of benefiting the patient by change of air
and a temporary sojourn in a more salubrious climate. Then came
offers from various country-hotel proprietors to care for the General
and his family free of expense. Most of these were actuated by sincere
motives, but not a few were made for advertising purposes. It was
finally decided to accept the invitation of Mr. Drexel to occupy his
cottage on Mount McGregor, a few miles north of Saratoga. The
patient expressed no particular preference in the matter, and as usual
acceded to the wishes of his medical staff. Accordingly, on June 17th,
a special car was placed at his service, and he left his city home, never
again to enter it. He was resigned to the situation, and gave no in-
dication of any misgiving as to the ultimate outcome of the venture.
Only once did he seem to realize that he was leaving his home forever,
when, after being seated in the carriage, he gave a sad look at the
house, while he waved a solemn adieu to a few bystanders on the side-
walk.

On his arrival at Mount McGregor, he was much pleased with his
quarters, and was confident that the change would, in a measure at
least, restore his wasting strength. Only shortly before, he had so
nearly lost his voice that it was painful for him to converse. This new
phase of the disease was a great discouragement to him, and his main
hope was that the balsamic air of the mountains might possibly have a
soothing and healing effect upon his throat. Such, however, did not
prove to be the case; on the contrary, the difficulty of articulation
progressed to such an extent that he was forced to answer questions
in writing. In fact, most of the conversations I had with him on my
visits to Mount McGregor were carried on by means of the pencil and
pad that he always carried with him. These written accounts of his
feelings during his last days have been carefully preserved by me, and
are of inestimable value as showing the manner in which he realized
and faced his end.

His life at Mount McGregor was necessarily very monotonous.
When he was not engaged on his “Memoirs” in his little office adjoin-
ing his bedroom, he would sit for hours on the porch, reading the
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 65

newspapers or watching the crowds of sight-seers who were constantly
about the cottage. By an unwritten law of instinctive courtesy it was
understood by the visitors that they should not approach too near: or
in other ways manifest any unseemly curiosity. The General became
very appreciative of this display of good feeling and respect for him,
and often regretted that he could not make a suitable return. Many
as they passed the porch would lift their hats in salutation, whereupon
the General would quietly and feelingly acknowledge the attention.
These salutations, however, became so frequent that it was impossible
to respond to them, it being generally understood that to do so would
tire him unnecessarily. On one occasion a lady removed her bonnet
and waved it in a most deferential manner. This action so appealed to
the natural gallantry of the General that he duly acknowledged the
courtesy by rising from his chair and lifting his own hat by way of
- graceful recognition.

When out-of-doors, he always wore a high “‘stove-pipe” hat, being
particular in this way to prevent neuralgic attacks, to which he seemed
at the time to be specially liable. For the same reason, also, a light silk
scarf was wrapped around his neck, and sometimes, when in a draft,
he would tuck one corner of the covering under the rim of his hat, in
order to protect himself more effectually. His steadily increasing
weakness did not allow him to walk much. He ventured only short

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright, F. a. Guzman, Flushing, New York

The temporary tomb on Riverside Drive in which the body of
General Grant was placed until it was transferred
to the mausoleum
66 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

distances, and then always with an attendant. One time in strolling to
a summer-house on the edge of the mountain to enjoy the fine view,
he' became so much exhausted that fears were entertained of a serious
collapse. This experience had a very depressing effect upon his spirits,
and necessitated the use of a so-called Bath-chair, in which afterward
he was wheeled about the grounds. On one occasion while his colored
servant Harrison was propelling him, he humorously remarked that
often before he had had a much faster horse, but probably no safer
one, as he was certain that the animal could not run away uphill.

When I visited the General for the first time at Mount McGregor,
it was quite evident that he had grown weaker and that he had lost
considerably in weight. This was in part due to his difficulty in swal-
lowing even the liquid food which, for obvious reasons, was his only
form of nourishment.

His voice at this time, although not entirely gone, was guttural, of
harsh tone, and very indistinct, except when he used it in a deliberate
and studied whisper. Even then he could not always make himself
understood. He became much worried over this affliction, and was
constantly hoping that it would grow less under the influence of the
changed climate. In order to give every opportunity for improvement
in such direction, he carefully avoided speaking as much as possible,
and would often write on his pad in answering questions rather than
otherwise run risk of a set-back. This practice made his remarks
necessarily short, but always to the point. This was particularly evi-
dent in his replies to my questions, and showed his anxiety on many
points and his desire to obtain all the necessary information regarding
his physical condition at the time. His written answers, however, giv-
ing as they do his exact expressions, now add a pathos to the situation
which no recollection of conversations could make possible. In no
better way can this be illustrated than by the reproduction of my notes
taken when fresh in mind and by the transcription of his own com-
ments from his still-preserved handwriting:

“How have you been doing, General?”

“T am having a pretty tough time, Doctor, although I do not suffer
so much actual pain.”

“What is the special difficulty >”

“My trouble is in getting my breath.”

“How do you sleep?”

“Pretty well, although rarely more than an hour at a time.”
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 67

In order to give him some encouragement, I remarked that he
looked stronger, notwithstanding his suffering.

To this he made answer: “I am growing lighter every day, al-
though I have increased the amount of food. I have gained a little in
strength since I came here.”

“The air is doing you good, then?’

“T cannot at this moment get a breath through my nostrils.”

“By and by I hope you will improve in that respect. What you
need is restful sleep in this quiet place.”

“For a few nights past, indeed ever since we have been here, the
Doctor [Douglas] has given me five minims [meaning a small dose of
a solution of morphine] on retiring, and as much more an hour or two
later. Last night, however, he reduced the second dose to three, and I
slept well.”

Then, to turn the subject somewhat, I asked him how he was pro-
gressing with his book.

“TI have dictated only twenty pages since we have been here, and
written out with my own hand about as much more. I have no con-
nected account now to write. Occasionally I see something that sug-
gests a few remarks.”

Thus learning that he had been tempted to use his voice beyond its
strength, I protested accordingly, assuring him that absolute rest gave
him a chance in the future.

To this he significantly and pathetically replied: “I do not suppose
I will ever have my voice back again at all strong.” Alas! this sad
prediction was more than verified as he progressed toward the end.

The following day, June 24th, although he had passed a weary and
restless night in his chair, he appeared for a time at least more cheer-
ful, and was even inclined to be playfully humorous during the exami-
nation and treatment of his throat. Finding some difficulty with the
insufficient light in his room, and desiring a larger spatula for depress-
ing his tongue, I asked if such an instrument was at hand. He then
took his pad, after vainly attempting to speak, and with a faint smile
wrote the following:

“T said if you want anything larger in the way of a spatula,—is
that what you call it?—I saw a man behind the house here a few days
ago filling a ditch with a hoe, and I think it can be borrowed.”

The long, sleepless nights were his special dread. There remained
only one way to secure rest, and that was by morphine. He fully
68 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST. DAYS

appreciated the danger of becoming addicted to the use of the drug,
and fought manfully against any apparent necessity for increasing the
dose. At one time, on assuring him that there was no special danger
in that direction, he wrote: “I have such a horror of becoming addicted
to it that I suppose that serves as a protection.” He was certainly
consistent in his determination, and never suggested the use of the
drug on his own behalf. In fact, he very willingly at times submitted
to a decreased dose when he felt more than ordinarily comfortable on
retiring. He could usually anticipate a bad night, and seldom failed to
prove that he had been right in so doing.

At one time he wrote: “I feel that I shall have a restless, sleepless
night. I suffer no great amount of pain, but I do not feel satisfied in
any one position. I do not think I have closed my eyes in sleep since
about eight.” It was then midnight. Still, he was at that time willing
to brave the discomfort rather than take an anodyne when not com-
pelled to do so by actual pain.

On another occasion, after having a sleepless night without mor-
phine, he became much exhausted, and during my call on him in the
morning he thus expressed himself: “I have thirteen fearful hours
before me before I can expect relief. I have had nearly two hours with
scarcely animation enough to draw my breath.”

His mental and physical suffering at such times could scarcely be
imagined, and his fortitude in enduring the infliction could hardly be
over-estimated. The difficulty was due partly to general weakness,
but mostly to the mechanical impediment of the persistent accumula-
tion of mucus secretion in his obstructed throat, and his inability to
relieve himself by unaided efforts.

During the mornings, he preferred to rest in his room and recover
from his sleepless nights. Often, to make up for lost hours during the
night, he would remain dozing by spells in his chair until near lunch-
time. The afternoon, however, would be spent in his wicker chair on
the porch. His chief occupation at such times was the perusal of the
papers that had arrived by the afternoon express, and so absorbed did
he become in this occupation that he would scarcely raise his eyes for
an hour at a time.

On one occasion when a larger crowd than usual had assembled,
he appeared quite responsive to their sympathy, and taking his ever-
ready pad he wrote: “The people are very considerate. But to pass my
time pleasantly, I should like to be able to talk to them.”
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 69

While handing the slip to me, his attention was directed to a little
three-year-old girl who was standing in front of the crowd, and quite
near the porch. The child smiled and waved her hand toward the
General, whereupon he beckoned her to come to him. When lifted on
the platform of the porch, she appeared to be bewildered, but soon

 

 

i a TS

 

 

 

From a photograph by Pach Bros.

Scene at the dedication of the Grant mausoleum, April 27, 1897

recovered her smile when the General very tenderly shook her hand
and lovingly smoothed her curly head.

In marked contrast to many evidences of a kind interest toward
him, was the forced visit of an entire stranger, who insisted upon
making a public exhibition of his rudeness. The intruder appeared to
dodge from the file of people near the porch, and hastily running, up
the steps, seized the General’s hand as it was resting on the arm of his
chair, and shaking it violently, prepared to enter into conversation, as
70 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

if he were an old friend. The General was more than surprised at this
uninvited familiarity, and gazing at him with marked sternness, wrote:
“My physicians positively forbid me to converse.” Such a rebuke,
however, had no effect upon the stranger, who smilingly said that he
would do all the talking himself, and the General could merely be the
listener. Thereupon the General quietly withdrew within-doors, leav-
ing his discomfited visitor to bear the brunt of a well-deserved snub.
It was an extreme case, treated in a direct and severe manner. The
intrusion was certainly keenly felt by the victim, else such a measure
would not have been adopted; for the General was always careful to
treat kindly, courteously, and considerately all with whom he came in
contact.

When his personal friends visited him, he always received them
with marked cordiality, and then more than ever regretted the loss of
his voice. When deputations arrived to pay him respect and to express
their condolence, he willingly received them, though under other cir-
cumstances his physical disability would have been an argument
against any over-exertion. This was the case when a party of Mexi-
cans called to assure him of their kind wishes and their hope of his
ultimate recovery. Although much in need of rest at the time, he
insisted upon receiving them, and wrote an elaborate response to their
address.

Some of his callers were odd-looking personages. One of these
wore very long hair, and in other respects was somewhat eccentric in
his appearance. In response to a question, the General wrote:

“Mr. N. is a Texan, but before he went to Texas, in 1844, he was
a great admirer of Mr. Clay. In the contest of ’44 between Clay
and Polk, he took a vow never to cut his hair until Mr. Clay was
elected President. He made up his mind long ago never to cut his hair
again.”

In one of my conversations, while sitting beside him on the porch,
I suggested that music might afford him some diversion; but, to my
surprise, he shook his head, and wrote:

“T do not know one tune from another. One time in traveling,
when there were brass bands everywhere, and all playing the same
tune, ‘Hail to the Chief,’ I remarked at last, with greatest innocence,
that I thought I had heard that tune before.”

This frank admission did not imply a personal dislike of music, but
rather a lack of appreciation of its beauties; for on a previous occasion
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 71

I recollect his saying that the playing of spirited and patriotic airs had
a very marked effect upon men both before and after a battle.

Apparently, also, he had no special liking for flowers, as he never
cared to have them in his room, especially objecting to their odor.

Notwithstanding his show of almost cheerfulness at times, he
seemingly never lost sight of the final outcome of his disease. It was
merely a question of time. In spite of every encouragement to the
contrary, the idea was too firmly fixed to be shaken. After one of the
many references to the subject, he significantly wrote his own sad
comment:

“It is postponing the final event. A great number of my acquain-
tances, who were well when the papers commenced announcing that I
was dying, are now in their graves. They were neither old nor infirm
people either. I am ready now to go at any time. I know there is
nothing but suffering for me while I do live.”

“But,” remarked I, “the newspapers should not be the highest au-
thorities for such a prognostication.”’ To this he wrote:

“The —— has been killing me off for a year anda half. If it does
not change, it will get right in time. The bulletins do not pretend to
discuss the point. The does it; it is the work of the correspondent
with The ——.”

This paper, however, was not the only one to blame in this regard,
as on the slightest provocation all of the dailies vied with one another
in predicting his condition as most alarming; while not a few would
repeatedly announce that he was dying when there was no possible
occasion for such reports. He referred to the particular paper in
question as it was the one he always read, and was published at the
time by one of his personal friends.

As my visits to Mount McGregor were limited to such occasions
when consultations with Dr. Douglas appeared necessary, I made the
most of such opportunities by being with the patient as much as pos-
sible and by giving him all the comfort in my power. There was every
evidence that he appreciated such a motive, and would look forward to
my coming with evident pleasure. Just before I took the train on July
18th, he seemed quite anxious to know when I would come again,
expressing the desire that I should certainly be with him “‘at the last,”
as he expressed it. I assured him as unconcernedly as I could that I
would surely be within call, little thinking at the time that the final
summons would come so soon afterward.

 
72 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS

On shaking his hand as he sat in his usual position in his room, he
pleasantly asked me in writing if he could do anything for me. I at
once bethought myself to obtain his autograph. On his attempting to
write with a pencil on his pad, I suggested that it be done with pen and
ink, and brought an inkstand, pen, and blank visiting-card to his chair.

Lei irom

Autograph written for Dr. Shrady

He then wrote his name and handed me the card. This was probably
his last signature [see above], as thereafter he evidently became too
ill to make any attempt in that direction.

The day after I left Mount McGregor was a cooler and more re-
freshing one for the patient than many of the preceding ones, and he
was consequently in relatively better condition. He took his favorite

<4 <a

a

   

Indorsement on the back of a check drawn by The
Century Co. to the order of General Grant

The check was dated July 13, 1885, ten days before General Grant’s death. General
Frederick D. Grant remembers that this was the last signature his
father wrote with ink. Obviously it is not so firm as the
autograph (above) written for Dr. Shrady.
GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS 73

position on the porch, and read the morning papers as usual. In the
latter part of the afternoon he expressed a desire to be wheeled in his
Bath-chair to the eastern lookout, which commanded a sweeping view
of the valley from Saratoga Lake far northward between the Adiron-
dacks and the Green Mountains. He was drawn thither by Harrison,
his faithful colored valet, and was accompanied by Dr. Douglas, his
son “Fred,” and the ‘old guard” Willetts. The trip was an enjoyable
one at first, but the patient had evidently miscalculated his strength.

It must be recalled that although stimulated in spirit by the fresh
air and the inspiring surroundings, he was in reality in a very weak
condition. The nourishment, such as it was, had been insufhcient to
minister to his wants. From being a man who before his illness
weighed nearly 200 pounds, he was eventually reduced to almost halt
that weight. Still, on this occasion the General enjoyed the scene to his
heart’s content. It was his favorite site for observation. There was a
sweep to the scene that gave due appreciation of his love for the broad
view in this as well as in other matters. It was noticed that on the
return trip his general feebleness became strikingly manifest. He was

“anxious to get home as soon as possible. From being animated, he
became suddenly limp and listless. The return was a short cut by
another path, involving the necessity of the General’s alighting and
mounting four or five steps, up which the chair was lifted after him.
When he arrived at the cottage, he took to his sleeping-chair for the
night, and had his usual restless endeavor to compose himself. At
10 P.M. he fell into a sleep of exhaustion, and fortunately remained at
rest for fully eight hours. Although this rest would have been amply
recuperative for a person in health who might have been ever so much
fatigued, it failed to produce such effect upon the General. On awak-
ening in the morning, he appeared weaker than ever, and exhausted
nature lapsed into listless dozing for most of the day.

The weather also was very uncomfortable. During the day the
atmosphere was sultry, inert, and depressing, the thermometer rang-
ing as high as 85° F. Although the condition of the patient was the
occasion of grave anxiety to the family, the General himself was
apparently unaware of it. He at one time insisted on tremblingly
walking from one room to the other during the readjustment of the
pillows on his chair, and even minutely directed that all his manuscripts
and literary effects should be duly cared for and safely packed, as all
his work was finished in such directions. Alas! all work was soon to

923
G16,
74 GENERAL GRANT’S LAST DAYS

be done forever! If he realized this, at least no one must know it. He
was the silent man even under the gaze of death.

As dusk gave way to darkness, a sinking spell appeared as the
result of increasing weakness. A temporary unconsciousness showed
itself, and then a troubled, fretful sleep. During one of his wakeful
spells, Mrs. Grant asked the Rev. Dr. Newman to offer a prayer. The
General looked appreciatively at the preacher, and apparently in his
mute way understood the solemn significance of the ceremony. It was
the last prayer to fall on the ears of the one for whom the earnest sup-
plication was being made. The clergyman knelt beside the sick chair,
and the family stood around it with bowed heads. When it was over,
the General looked with a kindly smile to his friend and feebly and
feelingly returned the gentle hand-grasp.

The remainder of the night was one of grave anxiety. Dr. Doug-
las, always hopeful before, was at last convinced that the inevitable end
was near. Accordingly, telegrams were hastily sent for the con-
sultants to come at once to Mount McGregor by the first morning
train.

It was thus, with Professor Sands, I was next to meet our patient.
We arrived by special train on the afternoon of July 22d [1885]. At
that time the General was still conscious, and was seated in the
cushioned chair he had occupied continuously, night and day, for
months. However, at his own request he was soon removed to his bed,
and the following morning he quietly passed away. The peace that he
had so often wished for others came to him at last in the truer and
more enduring sense.

It was the calm death he had hoped for, a gentle and gradual fall-
ing to sleep. The weary, anxious night had passed, the rays of the
morning sun stole quietly into the death-chamber ; but at last there was
another morning for him, another light, glorious, infinite, immortal.
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