Class /T^yX 
 
 Book q cT^ 
 
 CoEyiight>l° 
 
 COPlfRlGHT DEPOSrr 
 
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GENERAL GRANT'S 
 LAST DAYS 
 
GENERAL GRANT'S 
 LAST DAYS 
 
 GEORGE E. SHRADY, M.D. 
 
 ONE OK HIS CONSULTING SURGEONS 
 
 WITH A SHORT BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 
 DR. SHRADY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 PRIVATEIA PRINTED 
 
 1908 
 
LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
 Two Copies Received 
 
 DEC 26 1S08 
 
 OopjTlunt Entry 
 CLASS CC- l^Xc. No, 
 
 Copyright. igoS, by 
 Thh Cknti rv C". 
 
 Copyriglit. 1908. by 
 Mrs. George F. Shrady 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 ( leoriL^r !■'. Shra(l\. .M.I) l-rdiilisl^irci- 
 
 Juliii llaiu-nck Dduyia-. .M.D <J 
 
 licnr\ 1'.. SaiiiK, .M.D 13 
 
 I'ordyci- llarkcr. .M.I) IJ 
 
 'Vhr ])aix-nts i>t ( IciK-ral I 'ly>sc> S. ( iraiil -'() 
 
 Ulysses S. ( irant. gramlsdii i)f ( 'n.-iKTal l*. S. (iranl 2t, 
 
 T^icutcnaiit I'lysscs S. (irant, ['. ^. .\. ( i,'ranilsnn nf ( Icncral (iranl 1. when a 
 
 radet at West Point -"; 
 
 Facsimile of ( ieneral (irant's letter, asking the appnintment of his grandson to 
 ^\'e-t I'oint, with the indorsements of (ieneral Sherman and President 
 
 :\lcKinley .V 
 
 General ( irant writing his ".Menic>ir>" at Aliiunl .\le(iregur 35 
 
 Facsimiles of conversatinnal imtes from (ieneral (irant to Ur. Shrady . ^X. 39. 41 
 
 (jeneral (irant and family mi the piazza i>f the Dre.xel cnttage at .Mnnnt 
 
 McGregor 45 
 
 .\ gronp on the jjiazza of the Dre.xel cottage at Mmmt .Mc( iregor 51 
 
vi LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Exterior of tlie Drexel cottage, Mount McGregor, New York 55 
 
 The sick-room in the Drexel cottage, jMount McGregor 58 
 
 The room in which ( leneral Grant (hed 59 
 
 The funeral procession up Fifth Avenue 62 
 
 The temporary tomb on Riverside Drive in which the body of General Grant 
 
 was ])laced until it was transferred to the mausoleum 65 
 
 Scene at the dedication of the Grant mausoleum, April i"] , 1897 69 
 
 Atitograph written for Dr. Shrady 72 
 
 Indorsement on the back of a check drawn by The Century Co. to the order of 
 
 General Grant 72 
 
GENERAL GRANT'S 
 LAST DAYS 
 
Dr. Geokck Frederick Siik.\i>\- dird Xoxmihcr _^o, i<)07. at liis 
 residence, 512 Fifth Axeinie', Xcw ^'l)^k cit\. 
 
 Born in W-w \'(irk jannar\' 14. i^^.v- 1^''- Shradv had mnnded unl 
 his threescore and ten \ear>. lie was the son of |iiliii and .Margaret 
 ( Ileinhauer ) Shradv, and was one of ti\-e cliildren, aU of whom were 
 l)orn at the old homestead at Xo. 13S Ri\-ington Street. I lis paternal 
 grandfather emigrated from liaden-lladen, Germany, and settled in 
 -Xew \ ork cit\- in r735. iloih of his grandlathers were soldiers in the 
 Revohitionary War, and his father served in the War of 1812. 
 
 His early education was received in the puhlic and private schools 
 of Xew ^drk citw and sul)se(|nently he jjursued 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 1S3S. llis jjroliciencx- in anatomy l)rought him the same 
 \ear at liellevue Hosi)ita] the Wood intercollegiate ])rize. During 
 1S57 and it^5N he was resident surgeon in the Xew \nvk 1 losj)ilal, and 
 was graduated from the surgical division of that institution in i^^St^. 
 He then entered ])ractice in this cit_\-. 
 
 Jn the capacit}- of assistant surgeon in the L'niied .St.ates Armv, 
 Dr. Shrady was assigned to duty during the Civil War at the Central 
 Park Hosjiital, New ^'ork. ])Ut later was detailed to field dut\- on the 
 operating corps. At the ck)se of the w ar he returned to private prac- 
 tice and cjuickly 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 ])uhlic ickil, lay ill, an entire nation hung on the words of Dr. 
 Shradw liis skill \vent far toward alleviatin"- (irmit's sutTerino-s at 
 
4 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 the close of his ilhiess. Afterward, when Emperor Frederick was 
 seized with an aihnent 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. Me 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 un(|ualifiedly. 
 
 Dr. Shrady's activities were great and varied. He was visiting 
 surgeon to St. Francis Hospital for tw enty 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 1S61 to 1879 Dr. Shrady was secretary of the New- 
 York Pathological Society, and president of that organization in 1883- 
 84. Fie was president of the Practitioners' Society of New York and 
 of the American Medical Editors' Association. Other positions held 
 by him w-ere 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 enioying high distinction as an authority on subject!^ 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 
 
 I)rofcssii)nal career, editing;' the "Aiiierican Medical Times" from i860 
 to 1864. Two years later he founded the "Medical Record" and re- 
 mained its editor-in-chief for thirtv-nine vears. Tie was the author of 
 "Pine Ridi^e Pa])ers," a series of satirical and witt\' treatises on char- 
 latanism amoiii^- medical jjractitioncrs. Mis contrijjutions on surgery 
 to magazines of hoth |)o])ular and medical character constitute a valu- 
 able addition to the literature of the profession. For manv 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 s])here <il his jirofession. 1 Ic was the foremost ach'ocate in 
 his \\ritings of the freedom of consultation between members of dift'er- 
 ent legally recognized schools of medicine, and was largely instru- 
 mental in reconciling merely doctrinal differences in medical i)ractice. 
 
 He was also an earnest adxncate of the extension of clinical instruc- 
 tion, the ^'stablishment ot state examinations for the license to ])ractise 
 medicine, the advancement ol the standard of ])rofessional education 
 by increase of curriculum, and man\- other measures, all of which had 
 for object the elevation of the ])rofession and the benefit of mankind. 
 Tn recognition of his distinguished accom]ilishments and services the 
 degree of master of arts was conferred on him b\- \'ale in i86(j. 
 
 On December K). iSfuj, l^r. Shrady married Mary Lewis of Xew 
 York, who died in i8S_:^. \\y this marriage there were four children — 
 George V.. Jr., I lenry Merw_\n, ( 'harles 1 )ouglas, and a daughter, now 
 AFrs. John \\ Ambrose. 
 
 December 19, 1888. Dr. Shrady married for his second wife, who 
 survives him, Mrs. Hester VAlew fantine of Xew ^'ork, a widow with 
 one daughter, now Mrs. Edwin Gould. 
 
 Few men are so sincerely mourned or 1)\- such a wide circle of 
 friends, ])ersona] and ])rofessional, as is Dr. Shrad\. 
 
 For nearly half a ceiunry he was a conspicuous ligure in his chosen 
 profession, and during his whole career he was ever active to help the 
 unfortunate, to advise ruid assist the \oung practitioner, and in all 
 efforts to raise the standard of medical education and ethics. 
 
 Simple, unaffected, courteous, and with a heart brimiping over 
 with kindness, he won the warm aft'ection of all with whom he came 
 in contact. Among the sincerest mourners at his bier are the poor, to 
 whom he ga\-e his best services withi:>ut hope of fee or reward. 
 
lX (iciicral (ii-;ml was seized with liis fatal illness in 
 the auiuiuii of 1SX4, he a|>iieare(| hefure the wnrld in 
 an entirely new character, h'riini liein^i' \iewe(l as the 
 stern, nnciiin])r(iniisinL;', and ci in(|uerini;- inilitar\- cuni- 
 niander. the rexelatimi nt his simple resii^iiatiim in the 
 face of ,L;'reat snllerini^ claimed for liini new fame as a hero in another 
 sense. His last battle with the ^feal con(|ueror destined him for 
 .SJ'rander laurels than were i^ained on an\- of his man\ trinmphant fields. 
 It was the purely human side of his nature that then appealed to the 
 .ti'eiieral sympatli\ ol mankind. Thus his last and oid\ snrrender was 
 his ^featest xictorw 
 
 1 1 it had heen otherwise, histor\- would ha\e cheated itself of an 
 example ot Christian fortitude the like of which has been seldom re- 
 corded. It was the contemplation of this ])hase of him that ,1^'ives inter- 
 est to e\-ery detail ol his Ion!;;- and ])ainful illness. Me was no lom^er 
 the man of arms to he dreaded, or the President to he calumniated, hut 
 the bra\-e and helpless sufferer t<i be jiitied and admired. 
 
 I his is written with the \iew of ])reseiuin!4- an intimate ]iicture of 
 General drant as be ap])eared to one who was in close and friendh' con- 
 tact with him dnriuL;- the last months of his life. If a])parenll\ tri\ial 
 matters are noticed, they may in a wav help to finish the picture in pro- 
 portion and detail. Moreo\-er, what would be uniiUerestiiii.;^ in ordinary 
 persons may ha\e no little imi)ortance in the jjortraiture of noted char- 
 acters. There should be no spariiiL;" of s(|uints or wrinkles or other 
 apparent deformities. I f the true character does not speak in the like- 
 
8 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 ness, the picture can ne^•er .ser\^e its purpose. Proj^erly to interpret 
 motives, and intelliq-ently to a]ii)reciate consequences, one must have 
 everything ^\itIlin reach — pose, clothing, atmosphere, perspective, 
 coloring, accessories, foreground, liackground, high light, and shadow. 
 Then each spectator can study the result from his own point of view 
 and profit accordingly l)v his conclusions. It is not tlie mere size of the 
 man so much as his actions under those ordinarx' circumstances which 
 make up human exi)erience. 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 1 was in his confidence as one of his 
 consulting surgeons. In such close association there were exceptional 
 oi)])ortunities for obtaining an insight int(^ his general character that 
 would otherwise ]ia\-e l)cen imi)ossi1)le. There is no ])lace in which 
 human nature shows itself so plainlv 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 lound, and thus will the 
 attem])t he made to ])ortra}' him. 
 
 Tn general a])pe;irance General (irant would be considered the type 
 of a simple, dignified, (|uiet, and self-coutained gentleman. Of medium 
 height, he was rather stockily built, with short neck and high, S(|Uare, 
 and slightlv stooping shoulders. When 1 first \'isited him, he was 
 somewhat reduced in llesli and had a decidedl}' sick and dejected look, 
 which told of bis mental and ])liysical sulTering. 1 le was seated in a 
 leather arm-chair in one corner of his library in his house at No. 7, Kast 
 Sixtv-sixth Street, Xew ^'ork, and lie wore a loose, woolen morning 
 gown and an ordinar\' smoking-cap ol the same material. 
 
 It would liardK- have been ])ossible to recognize him from any strik- 
 ing resemblance to bis well-known portraits. It was not until he bared 
 his head and showed his broad, S(|uare forehead and the characteristic 
 double-curved brow-lock that his actual presence could be realized. 
 The difference in this res]iect between the lower and the upper part of 
 his face was to me most striking and distinctive. There was the broad 
 and sc|uare 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 beaxily browed and penetrating, deep-blue 
 eyes, and withal the head itself, which crowned the actual Grant with 
 real dignitv and force. Ills profile more than maintained the classic 
 facial line, so that his chin might be said to be relatively protuberant. 
 
GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS c 
 
 His ears were larj^e and plainly stood out at an an^le from liis liead 
 The circumference of his skull was above the average for a mrni of hi- 
 size, and was very broad and scjuare in fnmt. while rounded and fnl' 
 liehind. 
 
 John Hancock Donglas, M.I). 
 
 His manner was so modest, and there was such a coni])lete 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 
 
lO 
 
 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 lliroat specialist; and I )r. llenry 15. Sancls, the famous surgcun who 
 liad consnUed ])reviousl\- on his case. Each in turn made a very formal 
 and careful examination of the throat of the ])atient. usin^' tor the 
 |inri>o-e the onhnarx' circular refkTtiug--mirror fastened to the fore- 
 head 1)\- a hand anmnd the ohserx'cr's head. 
 
 In accordance with the usual professional courtes}-, I. as the new 
 consultant in the case, was asked to precede the others, hut as 1 desired 
 to l)e initiated into the particular method of examination to whicli the 
 ( ieneral liad heen accustcimed rather than to sul)ject him to unneces- 
 sary pain bv want of such knowledge, the others took the lead. 
 
 Very few words were exchanged by the little grou[). There seemed 
 to be a strain alxiut the procedure which i)lainly atiected the patient. 
 Dr. Sands, as well as the others present. dul_\- appreciated this, and was 
 evidently desirous of diverting the patient's mind from the real object 
 of the visit, .\ccordingly. when he handed me the mirror, he remarked 
 in his quiet, otid:and manner, that whenever I followed him in such an 
 examination, it was necessary to enlarge tlie head lo^p to give an 
 extra accommodation for thickness ol liair. 
 
 Asanoi)i)ortnnit\ was thus afforded to start a conversation of some 
 sort between us, I ventured to suggest that liair did not always make 
 the difl'erence, nor the mere size of the skull, as sometimes the best 
 brains were ver\' closely i)acked in very small (|uarters. At this the 
 (ieneral 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 gi-a\it\ of the occasion. I was thus ])romi)ted to illustrate to 
 Dr. Sands the trulh of what was said by relating to him an anecdote 
 told of ( )|iver Wendell Holmes, at the same time hoping to gain the 
 attention of the ])atient as a casual listener. 
 
 A traveling |)hrenologist was on a certain occasion gi\ing a jirac- 
 lical exhibition of his skill in one of the public halls of P)Oston, and had 
 asked for subjects from the audience. I)}' 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, 
 l)Ut, as lie 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 imj^assive victim, he relmked the instigators of the 
 sup]iosed plot by declaring that his Intsiness was to examine the heads 
 
GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS ii 
 
 of men with brains, not those of idiots! Nor was his discomfiture 
 appeased by the overwhehning outburst that followed this remark. 
 
 The excuse for mentioning this apparently commonplace occur- 
 rence was that it might open the way for a chjser i)ersonal 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 l)een examined 
 when he was a lad, and the |)]n-enologist had made the usual prog- 
 nostication, applical)le 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 i)urpose 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 ac{|uaintance. Thus it was a becoming policv that 
 he should ahvavs take the initiati\e, and nlhers merelv ;ict as willine 
 listeners. Besides, it was eminently pnijier that he should not l)e 
 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 w^as edifying to be even in casual association with 
 him and to note his different moods and acts. 
 
 When it was learned that he was w-riting his personal memoirs, 
 never was a promised work n.iore widely heralded or more anxiously 
 awaited. What specially a])pealed 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 everv phase of 
 his trial, and hailed each temporary respite from suft'ering with deep 
 and tender solicitude. During it all he w:is bravelv workine aeainst 
 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 w^hile writing on his memoirs. The monotonv was onlv 
 occasionally interrupted b\- a short drive in Central Park on pleasant 
 days; but these excursions were eventually discontinued on account of 
 
12 GENERAL GRAiNT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 the fatigue they caused. He was of the o])inion 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 greatlv 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 extem])orized table oblivious to his surround- 
 ines. At other times he took i)leasure in receiving some of his more 
 
 'fe 
 
 intimate friends, occasional!}' indulging in reminiscent references. 
 
 As his room was a thoroughfare for meml)ers of his f;uiiily, he was 
 seldom alone; but when al)Stracted or engaged in anything that took 
 his attention, no one \entured to interru])! him. 
 
 That he was not disturlied b\- the presence of others was often 
 proved bv a polite motion to sit down, while he would unconcerned!}- 
 go on w it!i !iis work. 1 lis long ex])erience in cami)-life, with his nnli- 
 tary family constantly about him, exidenti}- made him feel ])ertectly at 
 ease even in silent company. 
 
 He was as simple in his tastes as he was nnid in his manner. Those 
 who knew him onl\- as the stern man of X'icksburg, the warrior whose 
 ultimatum was "Unconditional surrender," found it difHcult to recon- 
 cile .such an estimate of his character with that of the plain, modest 
 person, with soft, kindlv voice and cordial manner, who could place 
 himself on the natural le\el with any ordinary, every-day visitor. His 
 modesty, which sometimes amounted to i)ositi\e shyness, was so un- 
 affected and natural that no one could doubt its genuineness, which 
 made it all tiie 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 fn^n the purely subjective side 
 of the argument, .\lways ready to listen to the suggestions of others, 
 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 victorv at anv cost. The actual result was everything to him. 
 
GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 '3 
 
 He once said that before every hatlle 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 ex])e(liems in this regard that many hatl called him the relent- 
 less "butcher, ■■ and _\-et he more than once informed me that the 
 carnage in some of his engagements was a positive iKirnir to him. and 
 could be excused to his conscience onl\- on the score of the awtul neces- 
 
 Hi-iirv D. San^l^, 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 oi)eration." 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 if his militarv responsibilities had not at times rested 
 heavily upon him, he significantly answered tliat, having carefully 
 studied his jilan, it then became a bounden dut}' to the Government to 
 
14 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 carry it dUt as ])est he coiild. 1 f he then failed, he had no after regret 
 tliat this or that might have been done to alter the result. It was 
 facing destiny with a full front. 
 
 Paradoxical as it may ai)])ear, 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 "Alen and Memories," in referring to this 
 trait, has truthlullv said: "Xot even the Maharajah of Jevpore 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 earlv 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 ojierator 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. F.x-en 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 dignitv of his high office. This criticism, however, had no 
 effect on him at the time or afterward. So mtich did he desire the 
 peace and (piiet found in his familv that the gratification of it was his 
 greatest |)leasure. In his active life, with its forced interruptions of 
 routine and its constant irregularity of calcitlation, 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 com]iarativelv light eater. The meal finished, his first occupa- 
 tion was the perusal of the dail\- ])apers. These he skimmed rather 
 th;m read. When any subject specially interested him, he \\ould give 
 it careful attention, as if determined to understand it in all its bear- 
 ings, lie seldom nn'ssed a head-line, and alwavs knew in advance 
 what was necessarv for him to read. In this resjject he was essen- 
 tiallv a man of aft'airs, as under other circumstances it would have 
 been impossible for him to be e\-en ordinarilx' informed on current 
 events. 
 
 The Grant luncheon was a bountiful meal, but intended more for 
 casttal guests than for members of the familv; and the same mav 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 fell Iiimself at home in a general at- 
 mosphere of sincerity of |)uri)Ose and cordiality of manner. It was 
 more in tlie 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 sav that such 
 solid and sini|)k' (lomesticit\- formed the ])roper setting for the sound 
 and wholesome methods which dominated lii^ jilaciil and earnest char- 
 acter. 
 
 A great deal has been said of Grant's excessi\-e use of tobacco. He 
 was undoubtedly a great smoker. During Ids 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 re])utation as a cliampiou of the weed dated from the 
 cai)ture of Fort Donelson, when at that time he was described with the 
 "inevitable cigar'" in his mouth. The various newspa]:)ers discussed 
 from many points of view this new phase in his char.acter, and (|uanti- 
 ties of dift'erent brands of toliacco were sent to him from everv (|uarter. 
 In relating the circumstance, he frankly admitted that this charac- 
 teristic being as much of a discovery to him as to the pulilic, he was 
 rather tem])tingly forced to develop it to its full extent bv industriously 
 sampling the dift'erent iM-ands in turn. 1'Iie main stimulus in such 
 directions was from various nianut'acturers in Cu])a who sent bini 
 choice selections from their ])lantations in the vain ho])e that he would 
 aid the more extensive sale of their wares by his per.sonal use and in- 
 dorsement of them. He was always led to acknowledge, however, that 
 up to that time bis taste for fine to])acco Iiad never been fully de- 
 veloped. 
 
 Often when pressed with hea\-y res])onsibilities, his rapidly smoked 
 cigar became his main reliance, AMnle planning or executing a battle, 
 it was his constant companion ; and, as he freely admitted, he was 
 never better fitted for calm delilicration than when enveloped in its 
 grateful and soothing fumes. 
 
 As might have been expected, the habit grew until only the strong- 
 
1 6 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 est flavored tobacco could meet his fully de\eloped 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 Ijy increasing the 
 irritation in the alreadv diseased parts. \Mien told that it was neces- 
 sary to throw awav his cigar and smoke no more, he resignedly did so, 
 Init often a\-erred 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 liimself, he had a melancholy cumfurt in i)itying the weak- 
 ness of other sinners. This in a way showed that the teni])tation to 
 revert to his besetting sin was almost constantly jiresent. 
 
 During one of the few times when he felt a little happy over his 
 relief fmrn ])ain and worrx', and wished "tn celebrate the occasion," he 
 sur])riscd me with the question, "DDCtor. do you think it wnuld really 
 harm me if 1 took a puff or two from a mild cigar.-'" 
 
 There was sdmething so ])itiful in the request, and so little harm in 
 the chance \enture, that consent was easily obtained. With an eager- 
 ness that was \-eritabIe hai)])iness to him he hesitatingly took a cigar 
 from the mantel, reached for a match, and was .soon making the most 
 of his ])rivilege. ( ")nh' a few ])uffs were taken before he voluntarily 
 stopped his smoke. "Well, I have had at least that much," he ex- 
 claimed. Continuing, he plaxfulh' remarked that it would not do to 
 have the performance get to the public as it might l)e said he was not 
 obeving orders. This expectation, however, was not realized, owing 
 to an inadvertence on the i)art of his only witness, who had neglected 
 to ])ull down the window-shades at the oj)])ortune time. A day or two 
 afterward there ajjpeared in a newsi)a]ier a head-line, "General Grant 
 smokes again." Airs. Grant, who knew nothing of the incident, in- 
 dignanth- denied the truth of the report, and the ill-credited story was 
 ])ru(lentlv allowed to take care of itself. The General himself was 
 c\identl\- satisfied to let the matter rest without further discussion, 
 as he never afterwai'd 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 nianv 
 
rnmi .1 [.ihotograph by Rockwood 
 
 Fordyce Barker. ]\I.D. 
 
GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 19 
 
 more weighty matters tliat 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 ])ul)lic 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 aggra\ate(l the local troulile in his throat, liis 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 directl}- and guiltily responsible for the 
 scandal, lie was then forced to realize that there was no sacrifice 
 too great to save that good name he had tints far successfulh' lal)ored 
 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 them^eh'es to a hke condition. W ith a pure moti\e of respect 
 and familiarity he would generally call his old comrades b\- their sur- 
 iiames, 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 ac([uaintances, he was always more thait courteouslv dig- 
 nified and respectfully formal. I'irst names were alwavs used, how- 
 ever, in his immediate family. 
 
 The intercourse between its memlters was tmrestrained and often- 
 times playful. Fred (then C(ilonel ) Grant, who had the privilege of 
 being most constantly with his father during the latter's illness, was 
 always eager for an opi)ortunity 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 lirow, and the General appeared to l)e always expecting this 
 tribute of affection. Father and son thus came verv close to each other. 
 Next to Mrs. Grant, "Col. Fred" was the General's most trusted coun- 
 selor. The son felt this responsiliility. and was alwavs on the alert to 
 second any wish of his stricken parent. Fie well knew that the time 
 for such sacred duties was short, and he was seeming-lv 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 comfortal^le and inclined to be cheerful. Sometimes extraordinary 
 efforts were necessar\- to make him forget for a time his pain and be 
 himself again. On one such occasion, when the General had passed a 
 
 ^m^^mmwMWfm^smz^m 
 
 JtSSE ROUT GRANT AT SIXTV-MNE 
 
 HANNAH SIMPSON GRANT 
 
 The parents of General Ulysses S. Grant 
 
 The portraits are from original photographs owned by E. R. Rurke. of La Crosse, Wisconsin, 
 whose mother was a cousin of (leneral Cirant. 
 
 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 
 
 von. Tliev are ver\' anxious to know how you are. hut have promised 
 not to disturl) you hy useless questions." 
 
 "But why can you not tell them?" said he. 
 
 "Thev insist upon seeinj^' you themselves, if it is possihle," was the 
 answer. 
 
 "What did you say to them?" 
 
 "That thev mig'ht see you if they promised to allow me to speak 
 for you." 
 
 "Well," said he resi<4nedl\-, "y^u may invite them in." 
 
 When Airs, (irant and "Xcllx" entered. I introduced them with 
 mock formality and stated llie ohject of their visit, at the same time 
 ])romisiny- the (ieneral that 1)oth ladies had made a solemn promise not 
 to em^a.ye him in an\- cnnxersation. 
 
 The (ieneral lonk in the ^iIualilln al niice; there was a new .u'li'it in 
 his eye, and with a su])pressed smile he very deliheralely said, "i.adies. 
 the doctor will tell you al! that vou wish to know." Then, as if they 
 had heen strangers to him. I sim])l_\- replied that as tlie (ieneral did not 
 wish to he trouhled with useless questinns. he desired to sav that he 
 was feeling- reasonahlv comfortable, that he fully a])preciaLed the 
 honor of their visit, and was correspondin»iv grateful for their sym- 
 pathy. Ily thi^ titne liis desjiondency had disa])i)eared. and after Mrs. 
 Gr.ant and her daughter had bowed and left the room, he called to litem 
 and ended the e])is(ide bv an enjoyable chat. 
 
 With a similar object in \'iew at another time a diversion was 
 made in another direction, w ith an e(|ually beneficial result. One night 
 when the ]>alienl was much depressed and unable to sleej), he expressed 
 a wish, in the temporar\- absence of Dr. Douglas, to see me. lender 
 ordinary circumstances an anod\ne would have been indicated to 
 procure for him a good night's rest : but such a remedy had on previous 
 occasions ])roved 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 eilect the desired object. 
 
 "What 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 
 
2 2 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 say: "\\'hen a voiingster, you were never bolstered up in that fashion, 
 and every l^ed was the same. Now, curl up _\-our legs, lie o\-er on your 
 side, and bend vour neck while T tuck the cover around your shoulders." 
 Apparentlv 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 
 apparentlv desired then to be left alone, 1 c^nld not resist the tempta- 
 tion to pat him coaxingly and enjoin him "to go to sleep like a boy." 
 
 :\lrs. 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. 1 turned to 
 Mrs. Grant, saving: "T "m afraid that the General will not like that 
 kind of treatment. He may think it inconsistent with his digniity 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 
 anodvnes until the last days of his sickness. He told me subsequently 
 that lie had not slei)t 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 
 vears before. 
 
 After this incident it happened that T was brought into closer rela- 
 tions with General Grant than T 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 dillerent to|)ics 
 under discussion. 
 
 T was pardonablv curious to learn his opinion on many matters 
 with which his great career as a soldier had lirought him in direct con- 
 tact. Tn 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 tmich of the light-house lamps and in formerly wonderino- 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 ajiparentl}- casual share of the work. 
 
 Ulysses S. Grant, grandson of 
 General U. S. Grant 
 
 This photograph was made abcwt the time the letter was 
 written which is shown in facsimile on page 32. 
 
 W'liKX 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 \-ersion of the 
 event. In all his conversations on the suhject, he always spoke of Lee 
 as a great general and a magnanimous gentleman. It was only the 
 difl:'erent 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-hoard. \\'hen the game was over, the issue was closed. 
 
24 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 There was thus mi 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 iirdinarv 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 (in the field, with soft felt hat, private's overcoat, no sword, and 
 with gauntlets trimmed to mere gloves, llis only care was for his 
 horse, always well caparisdued and well kej)!. This time, how^ever, his 
 pet animal limped In the rendezvous with a sprained fdot, carrying an 
 equallv sorr\- rider iust recovering from a severe attack of headache. 
 Lee wore a magnificent sword, presented to him b\- the ladies (if Rich- 
 mond. Grant, noticing this, instantly made up his mind to waive the 
 formalitv of acce])ting the weapon, as he did not wish in any way to 
 wdund the pride of so valiant an antagonist. 
 
 In remarking n|)on 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 jwssible show of exultation or vainglory 
 and with the rare and simjile modesty of a man who was describing 
 what appeared to him to be a very ordinary circumstance. 
 
 No one can sav 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- 
 uKMid and take formal possession of the con(|uered ca])ital of the Con- 
 federacy; but instead of doing so, he immediately hurried in a (|uiet 
 wav to Washington to stop expenditure of men and money and to end 
 the war in the f|uickest and most ])ractical w ay in his power. 
 
 Mrs. Grant, in referring to some of the ovations given him during 
 his memora])le tri|i abroad, said that he submitted to them rather than 
 enjoyed them. .\ 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 doulile line, and as the General walked 
 alone along a path thus formed, each trunk by way of salute was raised 
 
GEiNERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 25 
 
 in turn as he passed. W'liilc fully appreciating the marked distinction 
 thus shown him, his natural modesty was duly shocked by the atten- 
 dant display of pomj). and he remarked al the end that he had never 
 before "inspected such a novel guard nmunt." 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 intentled as a distincth' jjcr- 
 sonal compliment to the man. 
 
 That he was nex'er 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 recei)tion 
 which was gi\en in his honor he was overtaken bv a i)edestrian who 
 was on his way to the same place of meeting. The stranger, who cjuite 
 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. 
 
 "I have never seen Grant," said the stranger, "and 1 merelv go to 
 satisfy a personal curiosity, lletween us, T have always thought that 
 Grant was a very much overrated man."' 
 
 "That 's my view also,"" replied his chance companion. 
 
 When tlie}' afterward met on the receiving-line, the General was 
 greatly anuised when the stranger smilingiv said: "If I had onlv 
 known it. General, we might have shaken hands before."" 
 
 Although the General had a well-earned reputation for remember- 
 ing faces and indi\-i(lual 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 frecjuently 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. Xew 
 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 peal<s. The man so much 
 ai)preciate(l the prixilege of e\en this hrief interview that he constantly 
 referred to it in talking with his neighbors. 
 
 Long afterw^ard the General was a guest of Mr. Harding, the 
 proprietor of the Kaaterskill Hotel, when the proud interviewer was 
 seen approaching them on the voiul. 
 
 "Here comes a man. General, who constantly prides himself on 
 having talked with ynu, ;ind he is evidently bent on renewing the 
 ac(|uaintance." 
 
 "Where and when did 1 see him," asked the General, "and what is 
 
 his name?" 
 
 Mr. Harding, lieing naturally ac()uainted 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 
 inl r( )duction followed. 
 
 "( ■icneral, here is an old friend of yours, Mr. " 
 
 "What, Mr. ! Oh, yes; 1 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 yon .always such a good weather-prophet?" 
 
II 
 
 F.r.IXG ("ic'iioral (Irant so fre(|Ut'iuly, I had reasonable 
 ii])|)i)riunitics hir siudyiny Iiis niDods and l)cconiing 
 ac(|iiainlcd with his views on many sul^jects. Tlic 
 topics were tdr the ni^st ])art introchieed 1»\- hiniselt. 
 and there was a freeddni in their chsenssion that was in 
 strange cunLrasl with his ^■eneral repntatinn for stnched reserve, llis 
 insight into character and motive was tlie (inti^rowth (jf long' and 
 varied ex[)erience w ith men and circumstances, and was ahvavs echfy- 
 iny to the hstener. In recds^nizin^' fnll\- the ho])clessness of his phys- 
 ical ailment, and thai tlie 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 a])peared to talk for posterity, 
 that he might lea\e behind him some testimonx- that would be sugges- 
 tive or useful to others. 
 
 It will be easily taken for granted that he had a great burden to 
 Ijear in the contemplation of the ultimate doom that awaited him. 
 Although he defiantly and bravely awaited the final termination of his 
 suft'erings, 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. ^Vhen attempts were made to arouse him from such 
 de])ressing reveries he would merely rejily 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. 
 
28 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 J )uring- these periods uf depressinn he was incapable uf lixing- his 
 mind on his "IVlemoirs," and ollen atler an ineffectual effort would 
 yive u[i in despair. I le was then aware of having lost his gri[) on 
 himself, and would wait patiently and uncomplainingly for an oppor- 
 tunity to recover it. W hat seemed to annoy him most was the teasing 
 pain in his throat and his difticult\- in swallowing. When these symp- 
 toms were prominent, the mental depression was pr(_ip()rtionately 
 pronounced. Mis onl\- conci'rn was lest he might clioke in his sleep. 
 This possibility was so constantly in his thoughts that it was freciuenth- 
 necessary to comfort him with positive assurances to the contrary. 
 His "choking .spells" so often luentioncd in the bulletins were never- 
 theless very distressing, and, although temporari]\- 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 (juietly determined struggle to do his best ,vas a whole- 
 .some object lesson for all. h^or hours, while stubbornlv working at his 
 desk, he would deny himself a drink of water rather tlian trust to the 
 chance of special pain in swallowing it. 
 
 Although he expressed firm belief in Christianit\ , he was in 
 some sense a fatalist. r)ften, in speaking ol his maladv, he would sav: 
 "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 
 philoso])hv on tlie other. Thus conditioned, lie was naturally tolerant 
 of the \iews ot others. Sects to him were differences in methods 
 rather than in ])rinci|)les. In speaking of this subject he remarked that 
 latitude in religioits thought and freedom of its exi)ression 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 jKiint to be considered was whether a man was 
 doing the most \vitli the light that was given him. The Methodist 
 form of worship appealetl to him for its simplicity. The argument in 
 favor of faith in the supernatural was the ])eace. comfort, and safety 
 of its acceptance. 
 
 .\lthough strictly rexerential, lie was not what might l)e called an 
 enthusiastically devout Christian. \A'hen the Rev. Dr. Newman, his 
 l)astor and friend, called to pra\- with him, he was always pleased to 
 see him, would be the Ih'st to kneel to the devotional exercise, and 
 
GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 29 
 
 aflcrwanl wduld al\\a_\s in a (|uiet and hnnihle \\a\- coinersc with his 
 spiritnal adxi^cr < m s]iiriliial affairs, 'fhcrc cnnld \)v mi di mhi nf a 
 ,L;'i"cal l)(Mid (d sympadi) hciwcen these Iwn men, who, fr(.)ni loni;' asso- 
 ciation, nnderslood each other ])erfectl\-. 
 
 Grant's respect lor reh'L;ion \\a^ i|nile consistent with his hii^h 
 
 I1..111 .1 |.|hH...,.i-.1|i1. I.y I'.Kli Hi"-.. New V..rk 
 
 T.icutunant Ulysses S. Grant, !_'. S. A. (.t;r.-iii<ls(iii of Geiu-ral Gr.-inll. 
 wlion a cadet at West I'niiit 
 
 nioral attrihntes. It has heen most trnly said of him that lie was ne\-er 
 profane or \'nl.L;'ar. His friends and intimates can hear ample tes- 
 timony to this comnienda])le part of his ])ri\ate character, lie had 
 l)romised his mother ne\-er to utter an oath, and had faithfulK- kept his 
 word. He could he eni])hatic enough in his conversation, his ortlers, 
 
30 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 and liis wrilint;', tn make ualhs of any kiiul cnlircly unnecessary Xo 
 one who knew tlie man woukl venture a (|uestionable story in his 
 presence. On one occasion, after a dinner, a i^^aiest, in venturinj.^" an 
 anecdote, asked in a furtive way if any ladies were within hearing-. 
 The General, then President of the United States, simply rei)lied: 
 "No; but there are some gentlemen present," and showed his readiness 
 to leave the room. 
 
 The other side of (irant's character and his belief in "Whal was to 
 be, wotild 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 inter])retation 
 of e\-erv-dav events and of their direct relation to causes. Certainlx' 
 his own life-e.xperiences helped to ground him in sucli a faith. Invents 
 and conditions shaped themselves consistently in sui)i)ort of such a 
 view. The waiting- man and his real work came together at last, and 
 when they did, as usually hai)pens, there was the short circuit to tame. 
 The man, the gun, the aim, and the game were all in line at the jjroper 
 time. How many have tried, and how many more will tr_\' to tullil such 
 conditions, and have only failure for their etiorts! He would modestly 
 explain it from his own point of view by remarking: "It was to have 
 been." 
 
 Certainh- destinv a])peared to control his career against many 
 apparent odds. The strangest fact of all is. that Grant hii-iiself. after 
 entering- the army, never expected to be anything more than ai"! ordi- 
 nary soldier, doing his duty in humble positions, until such time as 
 he might secure an instructorship at \\'est Point, and enjoy a (|uiet, 
 rural home on the Hudson. He often said that, next to being a ])hy- 
 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 ])ro])er choice. Fate laid hold of the 
 right man at last. X"o one could have guessed the choice amid the 
 parade, bluster, defeat, and failure of those who were e(|ually promi- 
 nent in the earlier years of the rebellion. 
 
 No man had had a poorer chance to distinguish himsell than he 
 after his early resignation from the army, in which he had reached the 
 grade of captain. It was virtuall\- the end of his ambition lor 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- 
 courag-ement. No disci]>line could be more severe to one with even 
 
GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 31 
 
 moderate asjjiralii (IIS ; I)ut he bowed In it with the Ijecinuini;- resi^-nation 
 of a victim to uncdiUroHahle eircumslanees. Impressed with llie con- 
 viction tliat he had tried and failed, there was a])|)arentlv notliins^- 
 ahead lnr him l)Ul a rejietition of i)asl experiences. .Siih. behind il all 
 was a determination t(_) retrieve what he had lust. In such a determina- 
 tion there was the evidence of that staying ])()wer which afterward 
 made him the great man. The will was there, in s|)ite of the disheart- 
 ening circnmstances of his en\-ironment. I lis energies were loaded 
 for action, bnt the opportnnil}- was not vet in sight. 
 
 In that period before the C'i\-il War he \\;is known as the (|niet, 
 retired captain who had luck against him, and was becomingly i)ilied 
 by such as believed that there might yet l)e some good in him. It so 
 liap])ened, however, that when military affairs were discussed in his 
 home town of (ialena at the outbreak of the war. no one there was 
 better (lualihed to give advice in the raising and eciuipment of volunteer 
 troops. At a public meeting he was asked to give his views. Embar- 
 rassed beyond measure, he modestly expressed them, and was sur- 
 prised lo fmd them accepted. In promising to take ]iart in the 
 movement, he was merely offering to do his bounden duiv ;is an humble 
 citizen. Mis only ambition was to be useful in a small way. The aim 
 was to do diligently whatexer came to hand, to work for the work's 
 sake. Such a disposition characterized all his sul)sc(|uent efforts. His 
 highest ho])e at first was to be the colonel of a \dlunteer regiment, and 
 this was made barely possible to him b\- the number of incompetent 
 persons who through purely political influence had l:)een a])pointed to 
 that i)osition. Even when he was promoted tc) be a brigadier-general, 
 he was inclined lo doubi his fitness for the resi)onsibi]ities of the rank. 
 His father, in fact, warned him at the time not to allow anv foolish 
 ambitions to get the better of his cooler judgment. He l)ecame 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 l)Usy 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 (jualifi- 
 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 
 ne Avas always viewed as the unlucky person who had been unable to 
 
 ( I 
 
32 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 uverconie (liH'icultics. Tliere was nevt-T any arrogance or pretension in 
 exi^lainiii!^' his own successes. The\' were lo him the merest accidents 
 of circnmstances. 
 
 i/(r ^t^^^t^c^ i/.-t> 
 
 ^ ('•-^ t- 
 
 
 
 
 lUJw 
 
 Facsimile of General Grant's letter, asking the appointment i)f his grandson to West I-'oint. 
 with the indorsements of General Sherman and President !McKinley 
 
 It was plain to see that in his estimate ol the (hllerent i^enerals 
 with whom he liad l)een associated, Slierman and Sheridan took first 
 place. He seemed ne\'er tired o| s])eakin<;" of their (|ualities in terms ot 
 dee|) affection: The first a^ the \\ell-])nised, stubhorn, self-reliant, and 
 uncon(|neral)le warrior, tlie other as the dashing", impetnous, and irre- 
 sistible cliar^ier. hnt each incom])ara])le in his res])ective line. In si)eak- 
 in^- i.^\ McC'lellan he maintaine(l that the course taken by him earl\- in 
 the war was necessarx' to the end attained. ?\lcC"lellan was a jtidiciously 
 cautions ,iu;'eneral, was justly lo\-e(l 1)\- his army, was a ^'ood disciplina- 
 rian, and a s])lendid or^'.anizer. It was excellent slrate^}- to protect 
 and drill raw recruit^ until the\' were ht to take the offensive. 
 
 Contrary to what mi^ht be expected, he was \-ery lenieiu in his 
 criticism of lUitler in connection with the Hutch (kip Canal fiasco. It 
 ma\- be recollected that Cirant referred officialb' to the fact that the 
 
GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS ss 
 
 cnem\' had corked up llullcr's anii\- as in a iHtttlc. ( )n askiny the 
 General why he liad used such an expression, he a\i)\\ed that he had 
 no intention ot making a severe or ottensive criticism, liui had merely 
 rei)ealed a phrase which had lieen used in a personal rejiort made hv 
 (jeneral liarnard, liis chief engineer. 
 
 I'or the ("ontederate generals he had great respect. Lee was a re- 
 sourceful commander, a horn strategist, and a valiant lighter. )oe 
 Johnston showed wcjndertul ahiliix. and his pos^ihle manieux'ers were 
 always a matter ol deep concern to an\- one ahout to .attack him. 
 
 Stonewall Jackson had heen one xear al West I'oinl when (irant 
 was graduated. Though \iewed as a \eritahle crank, there seemed 
 even then to he something in him thai would tell in the long run. \\ hen 
 Jackson ohtained a command, his chance came. He was of the Crom- 
 wellian t>pe, heliexdng with all his heart that (iod was on his side. It 
 was the conviction of a special mission. I le imagined himself directlv 
 chosen to maintain the right, to stand again>i anything and evervlhing 
 wrong like the stone wall that he was. 
 
 For liuckner, who was (irant's old-time friend, there was alwavs a 
 good word, and when that ofhcer visited Mount .McGregor to tender 
 his sympathies, the meeting was such as might ha\e heen expected. 
 
 For Napoleon General Grant expressed no liking, lie said that 
 Xa])oleon's treatment of josei)liine was ahomin.ahle, and .admitted of 
 no possihle excuse, and would he ;i hlot on his char.acter for all time. 
 Conceding that as a military genius Xapoleon took fir>t r.ank, he found 
 his motives grasping, arhitrary, and selfish. It was the m.an working 
 for himself rather than for his country— the use of tremendous power 
 for most insignificant ends. PY'rson.al amhition so oxerwhelmed ]);i- 
 iriotism th.at he hecame a \eritahle "nnlitarv monster." 
 
 Groniwell he regarded ;is .an .ahle general .and still hetter statesman, 
 and .although a fanatic, he was admirahly suited to the conditions of 
 his time. 
 
 It was e\ident he thouglil ih.al Wellington h;id the fortunes n\ \\;ir 
 on his side at Waterloo, but it was by sheer force of good generalshi]) 
 that he took advantage of them. Xapoleon, though more than a m.alch 
 for Wellington in resources, made a fatal miscalculation. Hut 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 peciiliarit}- of the martyr president which showed siniphcity of 
 demeanor and directness oi pnrpose. His esteem for him was nn- 
 bounded. "The Hrst time I saw President Lincohi." he said, "1 was 
 prof(.>undh' impressed by his modesty, sincerity, and earnestness. He 
 was jnstice, humanity, and charity all in one."" 
 
 deneral 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 lor office. 1 he habit of illustrating a i)oint 
 by a little story or a timeh' i)arable 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 remo\ed 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 oftice, 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 bv General Aleade, who inime- 
 diately telegraphed its contents to his commanding officer. General 
 Grant on meeting the I'resident, showed him the despatch by way of 
 asking for instructions, but Lincoln, referring to the reciuest to be 
 permitted to leave the country, gave none except as implied in the story 
 he told of an Irishman who was |)opular in S])ringfield, 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 em])ty tumbler liehind him asked a friend if some 
 brandv could n"t be ])oured in the water "unbeknownst"' to him. In 
 reciting this anecdote, (ieneral Grant would jwse himself as Lincoln 
 had, bv standing l)v 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 ettective way 
 the anecdotes of his friends, and quietly showed great appreciation of 
 the humcTT of the various situations. He was never tired of refer ring- 
 to Lincoln's odd and innocent mannerisms on the occasions when they 
 met. Tliis. however, was always done in that loving spirit which was 
 the natural and instinctive outgrowth of an imi|uestioned admiration 
 for "the greatest man he had ever known."' 
 
General Granl writing Iiis '", Memoirs" at Mniint McGregor 
 
GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DA^ S 
 
 J/ 
 
 111 cmncrsinu- even on the most serions sul)jects. Lincoln ai)])earc(l 
 lo for5:;et all ordinary conventionalities in the earnestness of his pnr- 
 pose. When sitting' he had the habit of resting his legs over the arm 
 of a chair and swinging his feet wliile talking. At other times, when 
 S(|narel\' seated, he wonld clas|i his llexed and U])rai'-ed knee, and 
 gentl\- swing himself, while intently snrveying a ])etitioner. Lincoln 
 often said that an apt stor\ was the readiest argnment against a 
 threatened o\-er-])ersuasion li\ a cliance caller. It was a sin'])rise to 
 me to learn from (irant that Lincoln ne\c-r langhcd at his own stories 
 — at least at those he told ilie (ieneral. .\l most there wa> a mere 
 twitching of a corner of the month and a merr\ t\\ inkle in the w atclilnl 
 eye. 
 
 The plainness of manner of (Jeiieral ( irani was the resnlt of a 
 natural (lis])osition jirohahK inherited troni hi< moiher. 1 U' showed 
 it in all his doings. Tie had accnstomed himself to look at hi^ 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 resi)onsibilities. are modest, reserved, thoughtful, and reticent, 
 rile one wlio holds his tongue is alwax's an enig'ma. Such ])ro\ed 
 to be the case when, after his great battles, everyl)odv was wondering 
 what he liad to sa\' for himself. Tint the results needed no chscus- 
 sion. llis natural shyness was IkwoikI the temi^tation of \ainglorv. 
 In all his lesser work he was alwa\s the same iiuiet and uiioblrusix'e 
 ])erson. 
 
 There was a natural antipatln- against dis])lav of an\' kind. Dress 
 ])arade never ai)pealed to him. In his ordinarv dres> he was the 
 l)lainest ot men. Although .always neat in ])erson. he never affected 
 anything but the simplest attire. His aim was for ease, not show. In 
 most of his ])ortraits there is a conspicuous absence of militar\- ])rim- 
 ness. His coat is usually oi)en, and even his waistcoat is partlv unbut- 
 toned. The standing collar is convenientlv 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. Kxce])t for his sturdv build, firm iaw. and 
 resolute mouth, there was nothing i^articularly soldier-like in his 
 appearance. In the ordinary dress of a well-to-do citizen he might 
 have been taken as readilv 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. Tt was relaxation rather than 
 erectness. His favorite sitting posture was lient and lounging, with 
 
38 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 hands on ihc arms ol the chair, one ley cnissrd nvcr the nthcr. W hen 
 in deep thi>u;4hl he wniild s(unetinies rest his l)ent ell)ii\\s im the arms 
 of tile chair and stead}' his hands on the tops of his lini^'ers. hi writ- 
 ing, he wiiuld sit at the tal)le sidewise and to the rii^ht. so that he conld 
 accommodate himself to his favorite cross-le.i;"i;'ed jxisition. AUhoiij^'li 
 his dehcate hand would hold his jjen with easy snp]ileness and j^raceftil 
 poise, his handwriting;' was In' no means a work of art. It was incline<l 
 to be rapid and jerk}', as if the mechanical execution was irkstjuie. 
 Thus he would often omit crossing his t's. and dotting his i's. and 
 would occasionally siiell incorrectly. He e\iilentl\' preierred a lead- 
 pencil to a ](en as giying him less ti'ouhle. and as ol)\'iating the con- 
 stant interruption of dip])ing for ink. 
 
 His methofls in com|)osing 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 cam])-chest. So at home, 
 \\'here\'er he might he. no accessories were essential. He wrote his 
 memoirs on an extemporized table which had folding legs, and could 
 l)e easily moved from one part of the room to another. All he needed 
 was his pad, his notes, and a fe\v sheets of i)lain manila paper. He was 
 a slow and ])ainst,aking composer, his aim being to make himself clear 
 to the reader. After a long ;ind -tudied effort in framing a descriptix'e 
 sentence, he would read it to his triends with all the modesty of a 
 
 ^ ..-7 
 
 / I- 
 
 ^- O-^^-^^^^^A 
 
 04.^ 
 
 l>',-K-siniiU- (if a rciii\'or>.itiMnal imu- Inmi (icncral (Irani tn Dr. .Slir,i(l\ . (.See i)age 68) 
 
(JENHRAL (GRANT'S LAST DAYS ,,9 
 
 sclinol l)(i\ reciting' ;i IfSsoii. A prrliiK'iil (|ucsli(in fruiii lluiii would 
 "ivc him the hinl he rtMiuircd. 
 
 At tiuR's he cuuld wurk with urihiiar}- rai)idil_\-, hut ulteii would 
 de-vole hours to a short de^eri])tiou of a eoiuiilieateil hattle. lie olteu 
 rel'erred to Sheruian's "Meuioirs." n'l'reshiu^ his u'.emory ou ])oiuls 
 that he nii.<^ht ha\e uli^-^ed in relating; hi- own >lory. It was toriunale 
 for him that earl\ in his sicl^ness he heeame diorouL;hly absorhcd in 
 anlhorslii|i. It opened to him an enlirel)' new held hir di\ersion. and 
 cnaliled him to jL;et awa\- from him-t'lf and for a lime to lorj^et the 
 ad\ance of his relentless malady. 
 
 llis sl\le was sinii)le, tt'r^e, and devoid ..f prdantie ornamentation, 
 and was founded in a hterar_\- way on the pracliee ol writing- military 
 orders and rejiorts, Nhort, shar]). i)ers])icuou>. and to the point. .\ow 
 and then there was a stroke of humor in his relerences, hut e\en this 
 lacked the suppleness and art of a i)raetiscd touch. Xol that he did not 
 a])i)reciate humor; htit he was not always hai>py in ,^i\in^- it a i^-raceful 
 turn. It was the man speakin.^' for himself without special trainiuL;' in 
 lilerar\- wurk. In this res))eci his modcsl narrative holds a distinct 
 place in lilerar\- histor\. llis aim was to make ex'cry reader under- 
 stand what he meant to saw Thai the composition ol the hook was 
 pcculiarK' his own no une can douht. 
 
 With those who understood him. ( ieneral ( Irant was alwa_\s Irank, 
 
 ^y^fii^d (l.Ui'^f. J^ hv -^^ >^''-^' 
 
 Fac?imile <if a conversational note from General tyrant to Dr. Slirady. (See page 68l 
 
40 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 courteous, and unassuming. In conversation lie was a considerate and 
 patient listener. His comments were brief and modest, but showed a 
 ready grasp of the suliject in hand. It was seldom that he branched 
 into anv extended discussion, being more inclined in his terse way to 
 dissent from or agree with the views of others rather than to volunteer 
 anv new jihase of the cjuestion. He apparently weighed matters cjuite 
 deliberatelv from his own point of view as a man accustomed to i)lan 
 for himself. While he was ready to admit there was another side to 
 an argument, his own position was well guarded. As in the lighting 
 of his battles, this was the de\-elo])ed 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- 
 sistencv and want of forethought when matters ]iurel\- domestic were 
 to be considered. "\\'hen President Garfield was shot," said she, "'we 
 were li\-ing at Long Branch, Xew jersey. The General insisted that I 
 should move the entire family to Xew \'ork 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 
 difi^icultv 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 ai)parently (|uite contented tacitly to acknowledge the 
 jilavful rebuke. 
 
 He was earnestly s_\-m])at]ietic, witliout 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 ^lunson Coan, who had been a 
 Xavv 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. \Miile the voungster 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 bv the General as courteouslv 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 
 invaHd rose from his chair and with extended hand and pleasant smile 
 walked nearl\- half-wav across the room tn meet his young visitor, who 
 was overawed, and hereft of all power (ti speech. 
 
 li^H^. ^/-UA^ x^<U Cm/.-w ^,.. /j^/' ' 
 
 a 
 
 Facsimile of a conversational note from (lencral (iraiil to Dr. Slira(l\ . (See page "1 ) 
 
 "I am glad to see von, m\ little man," said the General, l^hili]) 
 Coan timidly res])onded 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 (|uestion there was no answer, and the General, full\- 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 liabit and 
 delight. 
 
 His consideration for yoimg people was also strikingly illustrated 
 bv his courteous and cordial reception of my daughter Atinnie, 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" ou 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 (lid not lliink licr father was cruel in keepin.i;- him cnnlined to his 
 room and in exercising on him such a domineering- sjjirit. pleading that 
 she should use her influence to have the sentence mitigated. This at 
 once placed tiie voung visitor ou an easy conversational plane, ant! the 
 ex])ected embarrassment of the occasion was happily disi)elled. "How- 
 e\-er it ma\- he." he remarked. "I have ahva}-s been used to obeying the 
 man in couimand." 
 
 Although General Grant liad the repntatiou of being more than 
 trustful with his friends, his other relations with men and affairs im- 
 pressed him at limes with the desire of many to use him for their own 
 purposes. In spite of his habitual sh)-ness. he was forced b>' 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 a])])eals of 
 outsiders, and was often suri>rised at the comjiaralively trivial circum- 
 stances that governed them. On one occasion an imjiortunate army 
 veteran succeeded in gaining an audience with him in his sick-room on 
 the plea of in(|uiring about his health and of bringing a message from 
 rm armv comrade. In the course of the conversation the General asked 
 in a friendlv wav concerning his visitor's occujialion. when he was 
 informed of a wonderful meat extract for which the man was an 
 agent. True to the instincts of the \-endor. the article was i)roduced, 
 and the usual sami)les were thrust upon the ])atient. 
 
 Many other agents, however, were not so fortunate in introducing 
 their wares. Alanv samjjles were sent l)y ex])ress to the house, accom- 
 panied by absurd stories as to their virtues. To gratify a craze for 
 notoriety, numbers of people who had no i)ersonal ac(|uaintance with 
 the sick man would ostentatiousl_\- call, and after leaving their cards at 
 the door, would x'ield to the eager (|uestioning of the reporters. 
 
 Alwavs considerate for others, (irant was inclined to be more than 
 ch:n-ita1)le in his inter])retation of apparently interested motives. .\s a 
 l)ublic man he was accustomed to meet the ordinary place-hunter with 
 ;i (/;//(/ pro ijiin. b^-om such a ])oint of view he had al)undance of op- 
 ])orlunities for stud\'ing human char.acter when it \vas actuated l)y 
 purelv selfish interest. Modest in his own claims, he was slow to be 
 imjiressed with the person who lauded his own superior fitness for 
 position. Thus it soon became known that he selected his advisers and 
 those clo.sest to him in official capacity by his own estimate of their 
 
GExNERAL GRAiNT'S LAST DAYS 43 
 
 merit. He picked liis men as a skilled workman would his tools. And 
 the pul)lic was not slow in crediting" his capacity and discernment for 
 such purposes. 
 
 At one time sex'cral nf liis ])uliiical enemies o])prol)riciusly 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 Ijcgan to interpret intentions from 
 an entirely difiereiU point of view. In this connect ion 1 recollect his 
 reference to a gift from a gentleman in Chicago that was so ])urelv a 
 friendl}- one that the donor had neither hefore nor after asked him for 
 a fa\-or. 
 
 While always studiously courteous to strangers, acknowledging 
 their respectful salutes and e\er read\- to show them polite attentions. 
 he not infre(|uentl_\- resented any ill-hred attem])ts at familiarity. He 
 was so considerate in this regard himself that he would not tolerate 
 any breach of ordinary eti(|uette hv others. ( )n one occasion, while on 
 a ferry-hoat crossing the ri\er from jersey I'ity. he was (|uietly enjoy- 
 ing his cigar in the smoking saloon when an impudent and loud- 
 speaking young man sat down hy him and said familiarly: "Good 
 morning. General. T 'm glad to see you looking so well." The saluta- 
 tion was returned in a studiously formal manner. "You still like v(uu- 
 smoke. I see." A k^ok, ])Ut no answer. "Sav, General, can't vou 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 recei\-ed. Whereupon the General, on receiving it. looked at it 
 for a moment, and then (|uite unconcernedly threw it out of a window 
 at his back. 
 
 Grant's love for the horse was a veritable i)assion. and datetl from 
 boyhood. At ^^'est Point. Cadet Grant was the best rider in his class. 
 In after life to own a trotter was always a tem]itation. After he be- 
 came famous, and his taste was known, he had manv opportunities for 
 testing his skill in driving noted animals, as when ^Ir. A'anderbilt's 
 "Maud S." was lent to him for a s]iin. '"The finest mare I ever drove.'' 
 Grant would say. On one occasion, at least, he met a driver who 
 valiantlv vindicated the rights of the road in a way that quite aston- 
 ished him. AMiile 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 (juietly jogijin^- aloiij^" Ik- nuticed in a casual way a 
 farmer and his wife who, with sinj^le horse and errand-wagcju. \vere 
 iust ahead, evidenth- returning;' from market. ( )n attempting" to "draw 
 alongside" and i)ass the con])le. there was a race on in a moment. 
 The farmer sim|)]\' chiri)ed in a ])eculiar way, and his horse S(|tiatted 
 into a long-gaited and eas\- irot. Altogether it \\as a veritahle sur- 
 prise to the other drixer. with his "professional trotter" and light 
 road-wagon. lUit the farmer ke])t the lead in s])ite of Grant's efforts 
 to overtake him. ( )ccasionall\' through the dust he could see the 
 farmer's wife look back to note their relatixe positions. Finally, after 
 a mile heat, the farmer "slowed u])" a little to allow the General to 
 come w ithin hearing distance. 
 
 "Did he know who it was, (ieneral? " (iranl was asked. 
 
 "Oh, yes," he re])lied. "The man simplv said, 'General, you '\'e got 
 a good one,' and then 1 allowed him to go on." 
 
 In referring to courage in l)attle. Grant was inclined to l)elie\e that 
 it was a cultivated (|ualit_\' rather than an inherent trait. The instinct 
 of self-preservation was inhorn. and was governed h}- natural im- 
 jjulses. 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 thev lieard w hi.slling bullets for the lirst time. The 
 fear of being called a coward was tlien the main thing that held them. 
 The courage that lasted was that which thoroughly appreciated danger 
 and boldly faced it. He confessed to this ,is a personal e.\])erience. PI is 
 first engagements were matters of discipline in this regard. The only 
 comfort was in the hope that the enem\- might be tlie one who was 
 more afraid than he was, and would decamp lirst. He realized such a 
 ])ossibility in his early militar\- career, and always afterward ke])t it in 
 mind when in a tight ])lace. A man was often like a skittish hor>e: 
 he must first l)e made to see and ap])roach the object of his fear; and 
 thereafter he might "dulv exercise his horse sense." 
 
 The story of General Grant's sick-room was, as all the world knows, 
 a sad one. \\'ith no desire to display the harrowing- side of his phys- 
 ical suffering, 1 still wish to describe the manner in which he bore his 
 trials under the man_\- adverse circumstances which tested to the 
 utmost his remarkable fortitude, stubbornness of will, and Christian 
 philosophy. 1 lis wonderful self-control, which seldom deserted him, 
 not only made him the least comi)laining, but the most dutiful, of 
 

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 S t: ;: a 
 
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 S >< " 
 
I 
 
„GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 47 
 
 patients. The study of his dillereut moods in his long wait lor death 
 was a re\elalion in resignation which could never go unheeded. To 
 ht oneself to the burden of sickness requires time and patience. It 
 was at first hard for him to submit to the ine\ital)le. \ lew the situa- 
 tion as he might, there was still the ominous shadow o\er 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 hrst 
 announced to him. It was this discipline that was necessary for the 
 few working days left to him. Tlie only relief in the situation was to 
 make the most of the remaining o])portunities, and sluljbornly persist 
 to the end. 'i'hen came the reaction that readjusted the burden. Becom- 
 ing more used to the mental depression, it was the m(.>re easily borne. 
 He admitted the fact, and bra\ely 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 emergenc}'. He 
 seemed more eager tlian 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 w^as 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 copv of the engraving bv 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 carefullv arranging 
 them on the table for the signatures to dry. 
 
 \'\'hen the General was about to rise, the son in a quiet and impres- 
 
48 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 sivc manner said: " blather, 1 wonld 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, ^^'ithout 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. \'oung Ulysses, the 
 son of Colonel (irant, was then a mere boy. We all knew that when 
 the letter should Ije presented. General Grant would have b'een many 
 vears in his grave. It was only a (juestion of months, perhaps weeks, 
 when the hand that held the j)en 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 e(|ually 
 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 
 
 ?J'1XI''.1\AI. (iRAXT'S voice was sofl, dec]), and dislincl, 
 and his s|ieecli deliheralc. (|uict. and e\'cn-tiined. In 
 (.■(in\x'rsati(in he was inclined to use sliort senleiices, 
 with few if any qualifications. It was an effort to ^et 
 at the point in the surest and most direct wa\-. 1 le was 
 always readv to hear the \iews of others. His a])]iarent]\' inchfferent 
 nianner and al)stracte(l air were apt to impress the s])eaker as lack of 
 attention. lUit this seemed {o he his method of ahsorl)ing thins^'s. Then 
 would come a strino- of pertinent (juestions, which ])roved conclusively 
 that he had not lost a point. He was hv un means inclined to lon^;- 
 argument, and nuich less to dis])Utation. Having imce made up his 
 mind on a suhject, he was silent, stuhhorn, and determined. 
 
 His temper was under such complete control that no one could 
 believe he had any. Never o];)enly demonstrative in any direction, he 
 appeared the same under all conditions. When he was depressed, he 
 was simjjly 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 onl\- interesting 
 as giving casual expression to his individualitv. 
 
 Not long 1)efore he was taken ill. he was lamed bv a fall on his hip, 
 and was obliged to walk with a cane. Although many ornamental 
 walking-sticks had been presented to him bv fairs, military societies, 
 
 49 
 
50 GENERAL GRAiNT'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. e\en 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 Iwwed. 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 merelv covering the lower ])ortion of his body, and 
 seemed to prefer resting squarely on his back. 
 
 In his \-arious movements there was no approach to awkwardness. 
 His hands were alwavs 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 lim|). 
 
 A slow and careful reader, he appeared to weigh extvy word, and 
 would often keep the ])lace in the line by his jwinted finger, and look 
 awav as if to fix more firmh' in his mind the idea conveyed. 
 
 His sleep was often disturl)C(l by dreams, but they were the reflex 
 of his ])hvsical conditions. .Vt one time an extra pain in his throat gave 
 him the impression of ha\ing Iieen hit in the neck with a cannon-ball. 
 (Jn ancither occasion he dreamed of Ijeing choked by a footpad on a 
 lonely road. 
 
 His evesight was remarkably clear for distant objects, as was often 
 demonstrated in the liroad 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 liv his forefinger and thumb. This, too, was plainly the 
 unconscious cnUcome of long ])ractice. Glasses were always necessary 
 for reading or writing, his preference being for ordinary liorn-rimmcd 
 spectacles with large, round eyejiieces. 
 
 ^^'hen rumors were current of the impending death of the General, 
 no eft'orts were spared bv the press of the country to obtain accurate 
 information of his actual condition. For a time it was reported that 
 he was merelv suffering from a chronic throat aft'ection 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 ofticiallv informed of the gra\-e and fatal character of his 
 maladv. 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 obiect of absorbing interest. So long accustomed to 
 be in the public eve, he Aicwed the situation as a matter of course, and 
 
o 
 
 
 bi „• 
 
GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 53 
 
 resignedly subniilted lu ihe elaborate, fulsunie, and often exagg'erated 
 accounts of his l)ehavior 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 onl\- b_\- such means that the iruih could be told 
 and ctu'iosity satisfied. 
 
 The proper jireparation 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 1 'resident (iarfield, in which comradictory 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 ilie main hall, representing respectively 
 the Western Union telegraph and cable service, the Associated Press, 
 and the L'nited Press. Each message, ap])ro])riately 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 hottse on the east side of Madison Avenue sottth of Sixtv-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 imix)ssible 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 ne\er an_\- other disposition than to tell the ])Iairi 
 trttth 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 [jress parlance, to "Ijeat" his confreres. To that end 
 all sorts of devices were used. The doctors were speciallv besieged 
 even in their homes ; more than once inside facts were olitained bv 
 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 wmild appear as a formal news- 
 ]iaper interview. 
 
 There was scarcely a limit to the endeavors of such enterprising 
 
54 GEiNERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 news-gatherers. One (jf them, in (.)rder to gain a vantage-ground over 
 his fellows, ventured attectionate advances to a chanilierniaid in one o£ 
 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, althottgh 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 ])urpose rela_\s 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 chaml)er wnuld call together a group of sentinels on the opposite 
 side of the street, who would pace ti]) and down the sidewalk often 
 during the entire night, awaiting some new de\-elopmeni. 
 
 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 i)apers. there was no way of keeping 
 him in desirable ignorance of his actual condition. Me would stttdy 
 the accounts with great care, and put liis o\\n interpretation on their 
 significance. This disposition was in keejiing 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 \\as always willing to forgi\-e the newsmongers 
 for what they did not knou'. At other times he appeared to be much 
 saddened bv the gloomv 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 \ery 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. 
 
 AA'ith a slowly ]M-ogressing disease it was natural to expect that the 
 bulletins would have a certain sameness of description and a monotony 
 of weary hopefulness. IMany 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 spicv reading. 
 
GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 00 
 
 Then came the reaction of the disappointment, with a suspicion that 
 the doctors had given false reports and that there had heen a grave 
 mistake in the diagnosis of the original disease. This was made prob- 
 al)le ])}■ 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, ihere was ne\er any 
 change of opinion with 
 true nature of the 
 ficulty in swallowing 
 that the patient ven- 
 solid food. He was so 
 opportunity that while 
 chop in his dining- 
 himself on being' able 
 ers with his ability to 
 sidered a remarkable 
 ability was short-lived, 
 occasion in the long 
 strained expectations. 
 firmlv settled in the 
 
 Mxtt-rior of the Drexcl cottatie. 
 
 Mount Mcdreeor. 
 
 Xew York 
 
 ihe staff regarding the 
 malady. Once the dif- 
 had so far disappeared 
 tured to indulge in 
 delighted with such an 
 lunching on a mutton 
 room, he felicitated 
 to surprise the report- 
 perl orm what lie con- 
 feat, lint, alas! this 
 and was a mere chance 
 struggle with over- 
 The General was too 
 belief of the real na- 
 ture of his malady to l)e inrtuenced by the critical tone of the press 
 regarding the alleged incompetence of his ])hysicians. 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 Xew York dailies, the General, wlio 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 \\ho n.atur.alh- was 
 most interested in the course taken. 
 
 This comment led to a question as to how he had treated the manv 
 newspaper criticisms to which he had been subjected in his long pulilic 
 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 scrifililers 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 nr wrong. One does the work, and the other does the 
 guessing." 
 
 A\'hen 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 ( Irant was represented as resenting the officiousness 
 of the doctors by a promise to aid in restoring their weak niental 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 ca.se of such national interest was thus most happily 
 averted. This result was also in great part due to the care to state onlv 
 the exact truth in all the bulletins, and to obtain a unaniniitv of opinidii 
 from the entire staff' before publication was ])ermitted. 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 ])ersonal 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 currencv 
 in this wav, and gave the first impression that the physicians had 
 undulv alarmed the public. The General himself always took a re- 
 signed and philosophical view of the situation. His simple wi.shes 
 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 
 
 1(1 linisli lii^ work, lie was \irtuall\ in the ijosiliun nl nuv wlm was 
 settling; his affairs before startin}4- on a forced journey. I lis liahil ot 
 mind made sni-li rcsiq-nation |)ossil)le. i^on^- accuslonied lo take his 
 life in his hands and lo face death in the emer.y-encies of battle, he was 
 nol one to manifest fear when the cud seemed inevilable. Me would 
 often speak of it with a calnniess that conld not be shaken. Me was 
 sim])l\- livino- each da\ b\- itself in the hope that there would be no 
 distressful slruj^tjie at the last. 1 lis apprehensions in this regard were 
 reasonably well founde(k as in his imiuiriiii^' way he reasoned that the 
 progress of the ailment would either arrest his breathinj;' or pixwent his 
 taking- proper nourishment. 
 
 Tt was fortunate under the circumstances that his thought was 
 centered on his '"Memoirs." inasmuch as when he lorced himsell to 
 write or dictate he was thus able to distract his attention Irom his 
 condition, ilence e\erv encouragement was given him to do as he 
 pleased in such regard He often remarked tliat his book was destined 
 to be liis own salvation as well as tliat of his familw rims he would sit 
 and write wlien most men would ha\e been abed and under the in- 
 fluence of an anodyne. 
 
 The General's concern for hel]). when his time should come for 
 needing it. was often manifested in what might otjierwise ha\'e ap- 
 |)eared to be casual c<in\'ersations. In an impressixe talk with me on 
 one occasion, he o])tained a ])romise that T would ])e with him without 
 fail at the last. So an.xious was he that notliing should intertere with 
 such an understanding, that he questioned me concerning my where- 
 abouts and future plans in m\- necessarv absences from Motmt Mc- 
 Gregor. On leai'uing that m\- summer home was at my farm on the 
 Hudson, near Kingston, he was ])articular to learn how long it would 
 take me to reach him in response to an urgent message, .\fter cross- 
 ing the river, the railroad starting-point would be Rarrvtown. He 
 wished to know the distance from that point to Poughkeepsie. where a 
 special locomoti\-e could be obtained. Then, in order to master every 
 detail of the trip, he indicated the route on a ])iece of wra])i)ing-])a|)er. 
 and smilingly styled it "a working jilan of battle." Alas! he had 
 planned many such before. l)ut none in which he could have been more 
 personally interested. T was quite surprised at his knowledge of the 
 topography of the countrv and his a|)preciation of relative distances. 
 A line was made across the river to Rarrytow'u. a s])ur to Pough- 
 keepsie, a straight course northward through PTudson, Alban\', and 
 
58 
 
 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 rroiii a phntoiirrtpll by Ciliiiiui 
 
 The sick-rnniii in the Drexel eottage. Mount McGregor 
 
 The two large cliairs were General Grant's bed. The cabinet in the corner contained Hnen. 
 medicine, and other articles used by the (leneral. 
 
 Saratoga, and a slight detour to ^IcGregor. The probable time be- 
 tween these places was dulv indicated at projjcr points, and the total 
 added at the bottom of the sheet. What became of ibis ])apcr, which 
 was evidently (Irant'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- 
 setpient occasion for referring to the subject in m_\' presence. 
 
 With the first formal consultation of the surgical statf, 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 ag'ainst possible complications and to make him as comfortable 
 as possible bv assuaging his ])ain and keeping his throat clear of an 
 accidental accumulatitm of secretions. The wisdom of such a decision 
 was manifested in s])aring him tmnecessary mutilation and allowing 
 him to pass the remainder of his davs in comparative comfort. Rela- 
 
GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 59 
 
 tively, however, it meant sulTering for liiin iiiuil the end. His great 
 apprehension was that he might be suddenly choked during his sleep. 
 After a severe spell of threatened sufifocation during the night of 
 March 2yth, this became a fixed conviction. Although quickly relieved 
 at the time, he became so nmch tlemoralized concerning a possible re- 
 currence of such troul)les, that he passed his tlays 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 fu-st 
 choking spell so alarmed the reporters on watch in the street that they 
 gave currency to the probability that the General was in a \er\- critical 
 condition and that his death might be expected at an\ hour. Later, a 
 similar announcement was made, based upon tlie occurrence (if an 
 accidental hemorrhage from the throat due to the separation of an 
 inflammatory exudation that for days had clogged his breathing. 'Hie 
 bleeding was quickly arrested In- simi)le means, and he then felt so 
 much relieved in his Ijreathing and his increased ability to swallow that 
 many of his friends believed that he might actually con(|uer the orig- 
 inal disease. The press w^as also eager to adopt this optimistic view, 
 
 photo^T.-iph by Gil 
 
 Tile 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. 
 
6o 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 l)een 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 1 should remain at the house in case any threat- 
 ened change for the worse should show itself. While I )r. Douglas 
 was watching the patient, J was hastily summoned from an adjoining 
 bedroom bv the startling announcement that the General was dying. 
 The sufferer was evidenth' in an extremely weak condition. He was 
 sittine 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 audilile, and his sentences 
 were interrupted 1)\' painful gaspings for breath. The Rev. Dr. New- 
 man was standing ])ehind the chair with a small silver l^owl 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, "1 thank vou." 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 suff'erer had been almost miraculously snatched 
 from death. In fact, it was so reported to the press, and much was 
 made of a verv ordinar\- method of treatment in such cases. Dr. N^ew- 
 man was especially astonished at the sudden change for the Ijetter, and 
 emphatically remarked that it was due to the prayer that had just been 
 oft'ered. With a similar gratification in the physical responsiveness of 
 the patient, T was inclined to attril)nle 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 (|uestion were freely ventilated. 
 
 Virtuallv 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 In' walking from one apartment to 
 the other, playing solitaire by Jiis open fire, viewing the watching 
 
GEiNERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 6i 
 
 crowds on tlie street below, or welcoming some of the maii_\- friends 
 who came to sympathize with him. OccasionaU}- a j)ara(hng 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 op])osite sidewalk. The General was nmch impressed 
 bv this evidence of good feeling toward himself. Vor a while he stood 
 silent at the window, and after walking back and forth through the 
 room, sat by the fire, absorlx'd in deep thought. Only the Wednesday 
 previous he had fallen almost into a state of col!a])se, and had reason 
 to realize how near he had come to death, .\lthough he had fully 
 rallied, he was still in that state of mind in wliicli he was keenly alive 
 to every evidence of sympathy. Also, only the day before, he had re- 
 ceived a verv friendlv and condolator}- letter from Jefferson Davis, 
 which gratified and touched him deei)ly. .\fter a while, feeling tired, 
 he slei)t in liis chair. During iliai 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 e\er, the i)olice being ke])t busy in clearing the 
 roadwav for iiassing \ehicles and for the carriages of visitors to the 
 hottse. 
 
 \\"hen he awoke, T told him what had occurred, and referred to the 
 interest that was manifested by all classes of citizens. He walked to 
 the window, looked U])on the crowd below, and sadly remarked: ■'^ es. 
 I am ver\- grateful for their symi)athy."' Then taking his seat by the 
 fire, he was (|uiet again. As I was preparing to write the usual after- 
 noon bulletin, T suggested that the o])portunit\- would be a good one 
 for him to express his gratitude to the people of the covmtry, especially 
 on Easter Sundav, when all the churches had been ()ttering ])rayers on 
 his account. I tirged that the bulletin be dictated in the first person, 
 and signed bv General Grant, as in such form it wottld aj^pear as com- 
 ing more directly from him. To this sug'gestion. however, he objected, 
 saying that it would lie lietter coming from him indirectly. Tn order to 
 comply with such a wisli, 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 verv much touched l)v. and very grateful ior. the 
 synipathv and interest manifested for him by his friends." — here he 
 
62 
 
 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 hesitated for a while and continued, — "and l)y those who have not been 
 regarded as such." 
 
 Impressed with the great significance of the message, I still urg-ed 
 that he should say something in the first person. "Well," remarked 
 he, "\-ou might sav for me, I desire the good-will of all. whether here- 
 tofore friends or not." Tn a moment he added, "I su|)p(ise that will 
 
 Till- fuiKTal iirocession up Filth .\veiuiL- 
 
 The cat-ifalqiif hearing the body of C.eneral Grant is shown nearing Thirty-fourth Street, 
 in front of the Astor residences. 
 
 do," and 1 accnrdingly signed the hulletin. gi\ing the hour as 5:15 ^- M- 
 The despatch was immediately sent to the press-bureau on Aladison 
 Avenue, and tjuicklv put u])on the wires. As this bulletin really came 
 from the General himself, and was dulx- approwd b_\- him, no family or 
 stall consultaliim im its contents w;is deemed necessary. Tt hapi)ened. 
 however, that a different course would have avoided a subse(|uent 
 com])lication which gave the Associated Press some trouble to over- 
 come. A few minutes after the bulletin had been sent, ^Irs. Grant 
 
GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 63 
 
 came into the room, and --he was told what had l)een dune, and the 
 messao-e was read tn her. .She then \-ery mnch deplored the omission 
 of anv reference to tlie numerous jjrayers that had heen offered for the 
 General on that day. and insisted that the hulletin ])e recalled, in order 
 that the necessary correction might l)e made. This, for the time being, 
 seriously com])licated the situation. The message was already in tlie 
 hands of the teleg"ra])h and cal)le oi)erators, and was being ra])idly 
 transmitted to the numerous Inilletin stations. To reconstruct it, and 
 retain its full meaning, would have altered its original |)urpose. Be- 
 sides, anv attem])t in stich a direction would not be understood by the 
 public, and would gi\e a false im])ression of the original intention of 
 the sender. It was then a ([uestion of altering the btilletin as little as 
 possible, and thus avoiding unnecessary comi)lications. Mrs. (irant 
 was very insistent, however, in regard to the ]:)ropriety of her i)ro])osi- 
 tion. At this jtmctiu'e I sug'gested that the dithcuh\- might be over- 
 come by inserting the word "iiraverful" before s\-mpathy. This being- 
 agreed to. 1, at the Cieneral's suggestion, communicated at once with 
 the press-bureau on Madison Aventie, and the re(|uired word was 
 added to the various despatches that had alread\' been transmitted. 
 
 iMeanwhile. 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 greatlv alarmed, su])posing that some extraordi- 
 nary calamity had occtn-red. 1 le liin-ried to the house, thinking that the 
 General had died suddenly after the message had ])een dictated. 
 "\Miat can be done?" said he. "The bulletin is now in .San Francisco 
 — in fact, all over the countr\- and in luiro])e!" W hen f told him of 
 tlie mere addition of an extra word to the context, he was much re- 
 lieved, and hastened to com|)]\- with the re(|uest of the General. 
 
 As was antici])ated, the bulletin attracted more than ordinary at- 
 tention. The Southern papers particitlarly had many kind comments 
 on the motives actuating the message, and more than e\er syni])athized 
 with the stricken mrui, wIk) coulil so feelinglv voice the sentiments of 
 a kind and noble heart. Rei)eated references were made bv them to 
 the General's magnanimous jiroposals when accepting Fee's surrender 
 at Appomattox, and to other actions of his in keeping with the senti- 
 ments of a high-minded and generous victor. \A'ith him war had a 
 different definition from mere enmit\-. It meant fidelity to a princii)le. 
 not mere death, destruction, and humiliation for the opponent. The 
 
64 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 hand that had so vahantly lield the sword was then open to aU, 
 "whether heretofore friends or not." The dying man had said, "Let 
 us have peace." and ])osterity was destined to cherish the sentiment as 
 the best of all inscriptions for tlie tomb at Riverside-. 
 
 With the approach of warm weather there were many suggestions 
 concerning the advisaljility of benefiting the patient by change of air 
 and a temporarv sojourn in a more salubrious climate. Then came 
 offers from \-arious countrv-hotel ])roprictors to care for the General 
 and his family free of expense. Most of these were actuated l)y sincere 
 motives, but not a few were made for advertising ])urposes. It was 
 finallv decided to accei)t the invitation of Mr. Drexel to occupy his 
 cottage on Mount McGregor, a few miles north of Saratoga. The 
 patient expressed no ])articnlar ])reference in the matter, and as usual 
 acceded to the wislics of his medical staff'. Accordingly, on June i/th, 
 a special car was ])lace(l at his service, and he left his city home, never 
 again to enter il. lie was resigned to the situation, and gave no in- 
 dication of anv misgiving as to the ultimate outcome of the venture. 
 Onlv 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 wa\'ed a solemn adieu to a few bystanders on the side- 
 walk. 
 
 ( )n his arrival at Mount McGregor, he was nmch pleased with his 
 quarters, and was confident that the change would, in a measure at 
 least, restore his wasting strength. ( )nl\- shortly before, he had so 
 nearlv 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 m;iin 
 hope was that the ])alsaniic 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 m\- 
 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 ])reserved by me, and 
 are of inestimable value as showing the manner in which he realized 
 and faced his end. 
 
 His life at ^Nlount McGregor was necessarily very monotonous. 
 AAHien 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 
 alxnit the cottage. By an nnwritlen law of instinctive conrtesy it was 
 understood by the visitors that they should not approach too near or 
 in other ways manifest any unseemly curiositw The General became 
 verv appreciative of this display of good feeling and respect for him, 
 and often regretted that lie could not make a suitable return. Many 
 as they passed the ]H)rch would lift their hats in salutation, whereupon 
 the General would (|uietly and feelingly acknowledge the attention. 
 These salutations, however, became so frequent that it was impossible 
 to rcsjiond to them, it being generally understood that to do ,so would 
 tire him unnecessarily. ( )n one occasion a lady remoxed 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 
 courtesv by rising from his chair and lifting his own hat by way of 
 graceful recognition. 
 
 When otit-of-doors, he alwaxs wore a high "stove-jjiiJe" hat. Ijeing 
 particular in this way to prevent neuralgic attacks, to which he seemed 
 at the time to be s|)ecially liable. For the same reason, also, a light silk 
 scarf was wrap])ed around his neck, and sometimes, when in a draft, 
 he would luck 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. Tic venttu^ed only short 
 
 opyrighl, F, A 
 
 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. Une time in strolhng to 
 a summer-house on the edge o£ 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 si)irits, 
 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, Init pr()])ably no safer 
 one, as he was certain that the animal could not run away uphill. 
 
 When I visited the General for the tirst 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 licpiid food which, for obx^ious 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 worrietl over this affliction, and was 
 constantly hoping that it would grow less under the influence of the 
 changed climate. Tn order to give every opportunity for improvement 
 in such direction, he carefully avoided speaking as much as possilile, 
 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 exiiressions, now .add a ])athos to tlie situation 
 which no recollection of conversations could make possible. In no 
 better way can this be illustrated than b\- the reproduction of my notes 
 taken when fresh in mind and 1)\- the transcription of his own com- 
 ments from his still-i)reser\-ed handwriting: 
 
 "How have you been doing. General?" 
 
 "I am having a pretty tough time. Doctor, although 1 do not suffer 
 so much actual pain." 
 
 "What is the special difficulty?" 
 
 "My trottl)le 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 Luxlcr to give him suine eiicuuragcnieiil, 1 remarked that he 
 looked stronger, notwithstanding his suttering. 
 
 To this lie made answer: "1 am growing lighter every day, al- 
 though 1 ha\e increased the amuiuit of food. 1 have gained a little in 
 strength since 1 came here." 
 
 "The air is doing you good, then?" 
 
 "1 cannot at this moment get a breatli through my nostrils." 
 
 "By and by 1 hope you will improve in lliat respect. W hat you 
 need is rest 1 til sleep in this quiet place." 
 
 "For a few^ nights past, indeed e\er since we have been here, the 
 Doctor [DouglasJ has given me live 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 1 
 slept well." 
 
 Then, to turn the subject somewhat, 1 asked him hdw he was pro- 
 gressing with his book. 
 
 "1 have dictated only twenty pages since we lia\e been liere, and 
 written out with my own hand about as much more. 1 have no con- 
 nected account now to w rite. Uccasionalh' I see something that sue- 
 gests a few remarks." 
 
 Thus learning that lie had been tempted to use his voice beyond its 
 strength, 1 protested accordingly, assuring him that absolute rest gave 
 him a chance in the future. 
 
 To this he significant]}- and pathelicall}- replied: "I do not suppose 
 I will ever have my voice back again al all strong." Alas! this sad 
 prediction was more than veritied as he progressed toward the end. 
 
 The following day, June 24th, although he had passed a wear\- 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 difhcultv with the 
 insufticient light in his room, and desiring a larger spatula for depress- 
 ing his tongue, I asketl if such an instrument was at hand. Fie 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 becoiiiiug 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; "1 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: "1 feel that i shall have a restless, sleepless 
 night. I sutler no great amount of pain, but 1 do not feel satisfied in 
 any one position. 1 do nut think 1 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 occasiuu, 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. 1 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 ditificulty 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 inalnlity to 
 relieve himself l)y 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 GRAiNT'S LAST DAYS 
 
 69 
 
 While handing- tiie shp to me. his attention was directed to a little 
 three- vear-old girl who was standing in front of the crowd, and (|nite 
 near the ])orch. The child smiled and waved her hand toward the 
 General, wherenpon he heckoned her in come to him. When lilted on 
 the ])latform of the i)orch, she a])])eare(l to be bewildered, bnt soon 
 
 I-roiii .1 pltotoyraph I.J I'.uh llr..,. 
 
 Scene at tlie dedicationjjf the Grant niausolenni. Apriljjj. i8g7 
 
 recovered her smile when the General ^•ery tenderly shook her hand 
 and lovingly smoothed her cnrly head. 
 
 In marked contrast to man_\- e\-idences of a kind interest toward 
 him, was the forced visit of an entire stranger, who insisted upon 
 making a ])ublic exhil)ition of his rudeness. The intruder appeared to 
 dodge from the file of people near the ])orch. and hastily miming up 
 the steps, seized the GeneraTs 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 snrprised at this 
 nnin\ited familiarity, and gazing' at him with marked sternness, wrote: 
 "My physicians positively forhid me to converse." Snch a rehuke, 
 however, had no eiTect upon the stranger, who smilingly said that he 
 would do all the talking himself, and the General could merely be the 
 listener. Thereu])on the General quietly withdrew within-doors, leav- 
 ing his discomfited \-isitor to bear the l)runt of a well-deserved snub. 
 It was an extreme case, treated in a direct and severe manner. The 
 intrusion was certainly keenly felt l)}- 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. 
 
 ^^'hen his personal friends visited him, he always received them 
 with marked cordiality, and then more than ever regretted the loss of 
 his \r)ice. When deputations arrived to pav him respect and to express 
 their ci indolence, he willingly received them, though under other cir- 
 cumstances his phvsical disability would have been an argument 
 ag'ainst any over-exertion. This \\'as the case when a party of Mexi- 
 cans called to assure him of their kind wishes and their hope of his 
 ultimate recoverv. 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. Tn response to a question, the General wrote: 
 
 "Mr. N. is a Texan, but liefore he went to Texas, in 1S44, he was 
 a great admirer of Mr. Clav. Tn 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." 
 
 Tn one of mv conversations, while sitting beside him on tHe porch, 
 T 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, 'PTail to the Chief," I remarked at last, with greatest innocence, 
 that T thought T had heard that tune before." 
 
 This frank adnu'ssion did not imply a personal dislike of nuisic, 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 tipon men hoth hefore 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 encotn-agement to the 
 contrary, the idea was too firmly fixed to be shaken. After one of the 
 many references to the subject, he significantly wrote iiis own sad 
 comment : 
 
 "It is postponing the final event. A great numljer 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. 1 know there is 
 nothing but suft'ering for me while I do live." 
 
 "But," remarked 1, "the newspa])ers should not be the highest au- 
 thorities for such a prognostication." To this he wrote: 
 
 "The has been killing me oft' for a year and a half. 1 f 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 onl\- 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 
 repeatedl}- 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 pulilished 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 necessarv. T made the 
 most of such opportunities by being with the patient as much as pos- 
 sible and by giving him all the comfort in m\- power. There was everv 
 evidenc(^that he apjireciated such a motive, and would look forward to 
 my coming with e\'ident pleasure. Jnst before I took the train on Jnly 
 1 8th, he seemed quite anxious to know when I would come again, 
 expressing the desire that I should certainly be with liini "at the last," 
 as he expressed it. I assured him as unconcernedlv as I could that T 
 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 brotight an inkstand, pen, and lilank visiting-card to his chair. 
 
 Autograph wntlcn tdr Dr. Sliraily 
 
 lie then wrote his name and handed me the card. This was probably 
 his last signature [see above J, as thereafter he evidently became too 
 ill to make any attempt in that direction. 
 
 The day after T left [Mount AIcGregor was a cooler and more re- 
 freshing one for the ])atient than many of the preceding ones, and he 
 was consequenth- in relativelv Itetter condition. He took his favorite 
 
 
 Indorsement on the back of a check drawn by Tlie 
 Century Co. to the order of General Grant 
 
 Tht check was dated July ij. 18S5, ten days l)efore 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 ji 
 
 position on the porch, and read the morning papers as usual. In tlie 
 latter jjart of the afternoon he expressed a desire to be wheeled in his 
 Bath-chair Id the eastern lookout, which commanded a swee])ing view 
 of the valley from Saratoga Lake far northward between the Adiron- 
 dacks and the Green Mountains. He was drawn thither by HarrisdU, 
 his faithful colored valet, and was accomi)anied by Dr. Douglas, his 
 son "l-'red," and the "old guard" Willelts. The tri]) was an enjoyable 
 one at first, but the jiatient had evidently miscalculated his strength. 
 
 It must be recalled that although stimulated in s])irit l)y the fresh 
 air and the inspiring surroundings, he was in realitv in a verv weak 
 condition. The nourishment, such as it was, had been insufticieiit to 
 minister to his wants. l'"r(jm being a man who before his illness 
 weighed nearly 200 pounds, he was eventually reduced to almost half 
 that weight. Still, on this occasion the General enjovcd the scene to his 
 heart's content. It was his favorite site for observation. There was a 
 sweep to the scene that ga\-e due ajipreciation of his love for the broad 
 view ill ibis as well as in other matters. It was noticed that nn the 
 return tri]) his general feebleness became sirikingK manifest. He was 
 anxious to get home as soon as possible, b'rom being animated, he 
 became suddenly limp and listless. The return was a short cut bv 
 another |)ath, involving the necessity of the General's alighting and 
 mounting four or five ste])s, up which the chair was lifted after him. 
 When he arrived at the cottage, he took to his sleei)ing-chair for the 
 night, and had his usual restless endeavor to compose himself. At 
 10 I'. M. he fell into a sleep of exhaustion, and fortunately remained at 
 rest for full_\- eight hours. Although this rest would have been aniplv 
 recujK-rative for a ])erson in health who might have been ever so much 
 fatigued, it failed to prtiduce such effect u])on the General. On awak- 
 ening in the morning, he appeared weaker than e\-er, and exhausted 
 nature lapsed into listless dozing for most of the dav. 
 
 The weather also was very uncomfortable. During the (\-a\ 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 tremblinglv 
 walking from one room to the other during the readjustment of the 
 pillows on his chair, and even minutely directed that all his manuscri]its 
 and literary effects should be duly cared for and safelv packed, as all 
 his work was finished in such directions. Alas ! all work was soon to 
 
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 ga\e \va}- 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 appreciativelv at the preacher, and apparently in his 
 mute wav 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, ^^'hen it was over, 
 the General looked with a kindly smile to his friend and feelily and 
 feelinglv 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 ?\Iount ^McGregor l)y the first morning 
 train. 
 
 It was thus, with Professor Sands, I was next to meet our jiatient. 
 We arrived bv special train on the afternoon of Julv Jjd [1885]. At 
 that time the General was still conscious, and was seated in the 
 cushioned chair he had occupied continuously, night and day, fi>r 
 months. However, at his own request he was soon removed to his bed, 
 and the following morning he qviietly 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 slec]). The wearw 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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