Personal Memoirs of U. S. Grant, Complete

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I have describes enough of my early life to give an impression of the
whole. I did not like to work; but I did as much of it, while young, as
grown men can be hired to do in these days, and attended school at the
same time. I had as many privileges as any boy in the village, and
probably more than most of them. I have no recollection of ever having
been punished at home, either by scolding or by the rod. But at school
the case was different. The rod was freely used there, and I was not
exempt from its influence. I can see John D. White--the school teacher
--now, with his long beech switch always in his hand. It was not always
the same one, either. Switches were brought in bundles, from a beech
wood near the school house, by the boys for whose benefit they were
intended. Often a whole bundle would be used up in a single day. I
never had any hard feelings against my teacher, either while attending
the school, or in later years when reflecting upon my experience. Mr.
White was a kindhearted man, and was much respected by the community in
which he lived. He only followed the universal custom of the period,
and that under which he had received his own education.

CHAPTER II.

WEST POINT--GRADUATION.

In the winter of 1838-9 I was attending school at Ripley, only ten miles
distant from Georgetown, but spent the Christmas holidays at home.
During this vacation my father received a letter from the Honorable
Thomas Morris, then United States Senator from Ohio. When he read it he
said to me, "Ulysses, I believe you are going to receive the
appointment." "What appointment?" I inquired. "To West Point; I have
applied for it." "But I won't go," I said. He said he thought I would,
AND I THOUGHT SO TOO, IF HE DID. I really had no objection to going to
West Point, except that I had a very exalted idea of the acquirements
necessary to get through. I did not believe I possessed them, and could
not bear the idea of failing. There had been four boys from our
village, or its immediate neighborhood, who had been graduated from West
Point, and never a failure of any one appointed from Georgetown, except
in the case of the one whose place I was to take. He was the son of Dr.
Bailey, our nearest and most intimate neighbor. Young Bailey had been
appointed in 1837. Finding before the January examination following,
that he could not pass, he resigned and went to a private school, and
remained there until the following year, when he was reappointed.
Before the next examination he was dismissed. Dr. Bailey was a proud
and sensitive man, and felt the failure of his son so keenly that he
forbade his return home. There were no telegraphs in those days to
disseminate news rapidly, no railroads west of the Alleghanies, and but
few east; and above all, there were no reporters prying into other
people's private affairs. Consequently it did not become generally
known that there was a vacancy at West Point from our district until I
was appointed. I presume Mrs. Bailey confided to my mother the fact
that Bartlett had been dismissed, and that the doctor had forbidden his
son's return home.

The Honorable Thomas L. Hamer, one of the ablest men Ohio ever produced,
was our member of Congress at the time, and had the right of nomination.
He and my father had been members of the same debating society (where
they were generally pitted on opposite sides), and intimate personal
friends from their early manhood up to a few years before. In politics
they differed. Hamer was a life-long Democrat, while my father was a
Whig. They had a warm discussion, which finally became angry--over some
act of President Jackson, the removal of the deposit of public moneys, I
think--after which they never spoke until after my appointment. I know
both of them felt badly over this estrangement, and would have been glad
at any time to come to a reconciliation; but neither would make the
advance. Under these circumstances my father would not write to Hamer
for the appointment, but he wrote to Thomas Morris, United States
Senator from Ohio, informing him that there was a vacancy at West Point
from our district, and that he would be glad if I could be appointed to
fill it. This letter, I presume, was turned over to Mr. Hamer, and, as
there was no other applicant, he cheerfully appointed me. This healed
the breach between the two, never after reopened.

Besides the argument used by my father in favor of my going to West
Point--that "he thought I would go"--there was another very strong
inducement. I had always a great desire to travel. I was already the
best travelled boy in Georgetown, except the sons of one man, John
Walker, who had emigrated to Texas with his family, and immigrated back
as soon as he could get the means to do so. In his short stay in Texas
he acquired a very different opinion of the country from what one would
form going there now.

I had been east to Wheeling, Virginia, and north to the Western Reserve,
in Ohio, west to Louisville, and south to Bourbon County, Kentucky,
besides having driven or ridden pretty much over the whole country
within fifty miles of home. Going to West Point would give me the
opportunity of visiting the two great cities of the continent,
Philadelphia and New York. This was enough. When these places were
visited I would have been glad to have had a steamboat or railroad
collision, or any other accident happen, by which I might have received
a temporary injury sufficient to make me ineligible, for a time, to
enter the Academy. Nothing of the kind occurred, and I had to face the
music.

Georgetown has a remarkable record for a western village. It is, and
has been from its earliest existence, a democratic town. There was
probably no time during the rebellion when, if the opportunity could
have been afforded, it would not have voted for Jefferson Davis for
President of the United States, over Mr. Lincoln, or any other
representative of his party; unless it was immediately after some of
John Morgan's men, in his celebrated raid through Ohio, spent a few
hours in the village. The rebels helped themselves to whatever they
could find, horses, boots and shoes, especially horses, and many ordered
meals to be prepared for them by the families. This was no doubt a far
pleasanter duty for some families than it would have been to render a
like service for Union soldiers. The line between the Rebel and Union
element in Georgetown was so marked that it led to divisions even in the
churches. There were churches in that part of Ohio where treason was
preached regularly, and where, to secure membership, hostility to the
government, to the war and to the liberation of the slaves, was far more
essential than a belief in the authenticity or credibility of the Bible.
There were men in Georgetown who filled all the requirements for
membership in these churches.

Yet this far-off western village, with a population, including old and
young, male and female, of about one thousand--about enough for the
organization of a single regiment if all had been men capable of bearing
arms--furnished the Union army four general officers and one colonel,
West Point graduates, and nine generals and field officers of
Volunteers, that I can think of. Of the graduates from West Point, all
had citizenship elsewhere at the breaking out of the rebellion, except
possibly General A. V. Kautz, who had remained in the army from his
graduation. Two of the colonels also entered the service from other
localities. The other seven, General McGroierty, Colonels White, Fyffe,
Loudon and Marshall, Majors King and Bailey, were all residents of
Georgetown when the war broke out, and all of them, who were alive at
the close, returned there. Major Bailey was the cadet who had preceded
me at West Point. He was killed in West Virginia, in his first
engagement. As far as I know, every boy who has entered West Point from
that village since my time has been graduated.

I took passage on a steamer at Ripley, Ohio, for Pittsburg, about the
middle of May, 1839. Western boats at that day did not make regular
trips at stated times, but would stop anywhere, and for any length of
time, for passengers or freight. I have myself been detained two or
three days at a place after steam was up, the gang planks, all but one,
drawn in, and after the time advertised for starting had expired. On
this occasion we had no vexatious delays, and in about three days
Pittsburg was reached. From Pittsburg I chose passage by the canal to
Harrisburg, rather than by the more expeditious stage. This gave a
better opportunity of enjoying the fine scenery of Western Pennsylvania,
and I had rather a dread of reaching my destination at all. At that
time the canal was much patronized by travellers, and, with the
comfortable packets of the period, no mode of conveyance could be more
pleasant, when time was not an object. From Harrisburg to Philadelphia
there was a railroad, the first I had ever seen, except the one on which
I had just crossed the summit of the Alleghany Mountains, and over which
canal boats were transported. In travelling by the road from
Harrisburg, I thought the perfection of rapid transit had been reached.
We travelled at least eighteen miles an hour, when at full speed, and
made the whole distance averaging probably as much as twelve miles an
hour. This seemed like annihilating space. I stopped five days in
Philadelphia, saw about every street in the city, attended the theatre,
visited Girard College (which was then in course of construction), and
got reprimanded from home afterwards, for dallying by the way so long.
My sojourn in New York was shorter, but long enough to enable me to see
the city very well. I reported at West Point on the 30th or 31st of
May, and about two weeks later passed my examination for admission,
without difficulty, very much to my surprise.

A military life had no charms for me, and I had not the faintest idea of
staying in the army even if I should be graduated, which I did not
expect. The encampment which preceded the commencement of academic
studies was very wearisome and uninteresting. When the 28th of August
came--the date for breaking up camp and going into barracks--I felt as
though I had been at West Point always, and that if I staid to
graduation, I would have to remain always. I did not take hold of my
studies with avidity, in fact I rarely ever read over a lesson the
second time during my entire cadetship. I could not sit in my room
doing nothing. There is a fine library connected with the Academy from
which cadets can get books to read in their quarters. I devoted more
time to these, than to books relating to the course of studies. Much of
the time, I am sorry to say, was devoted to novels, but not those of a
trashy sort. I read all of Bulwer's then published, Cooper's,
Marryat's, Scott's, Washington Irving's works, Lever's, and many others
that I do not now remember. Mathematics was very easy to me, so that
when January came, I passed the examination, taking a good standing in
that branch. In French, the only other study at that time in the first
year's course, my standing was very low. In fact, if the class had been
turned the other end foremost I should have been near head. I never
succeeded in getting squarely at either end of my class, in any one
study, during the four years. I came near it in French, artillery,
infantry and cavalry tactics, and conduct.

Early in the session of the Congress which met in December, 1839, a bill
was discussed abolishing the Military Academy. I saw in this an
honorable way to obtain a discharge, and read the debates with much
interest, but with impatience at the delay in taking action, for I was
selfish enough to favor the bill. It never passed, and a year later,
although the time hung drearily with me, I would have been sorry to have
seen it succeed. My idea then was to get through the course, secure a
detail for a few years as assistant professor of mathematics at the
Academy, and afterwards obtain a permanent position as professor in some
respectable college; but circumstances always did shape my course
different from my plans.

At the end of two years the class received the usual furlough, extending
from the close of the June examination to the 28th of August. This I
enjoyed beyond any other period of my life. My father had sold out his
business in Georgetown--where my youth had been spent, and to which my
day-dreams carried me back as my future home, if I should ever be able
to retire on a competency. He had moved to Bethel, only twelve miles
away, in the adjoining county of Clermont, and had bought a young horse
that had never been in harness, for my special use under the saddle
during my furlough. Most of my time was spent among my old
school-mates--these ten weeks were shorter than one week at West Point.

Persons acquainted with the Academy know that the corps of cadets is
divided into four companies for the purpose of military exercises.
These companies are officered from the cadets, the superintendent and
commandant selecting the officers for their military bearing and
qualifications. The adjutant, quartermaster, four captains and twelve
lieutenants are taken from the first, or Senior class; the sergeants
from the second, or junior class; and the corporals from the third, or
Sophomore class. I had not been "called out" as a corporal, but when I
returned from furlough I found myself the last but one--about my
standing in all the tactics--of eighteen sergeants. The promotion was
too much for me. That year my standing in the class--as shown by the
number of demerits of the year--was about the same as it was among the
sergeants, and I was dropped, and served the fourth year as a private.

During my first year's encampment General Scott visited West Point, and
reviewed the cadets. With his commanding figure, his quite colossal
size and showy uniform, I thought him the finest specimen of manhood my
eyes had ever beheld, and the most to be envied. I could never resemble
him in appearance, but I believe I did have a presentiment for a moment
that some day I should occupy his place on review--although I had no
intention then of remaining in the army. My experience in a horse-trade
ten years before, and the ridicule it caused me, were too fresh in my
mind for me to communicate this presentiment to even my most intimate
chum. The next summer Martin Van Buren, then President of the United
States, visited West Point and reviewed the cadets; he did not impress
me with the awe which Scott had inspired. In fact I regarded General
Scott and Captain C. F. Smith, the Commandant of Cadets, as the two men
most to be envied in the nation. I retained a high regard for both up
to the day of their death.

The last two years wore away more rapidly than the first two, but they
still seemed about five times as long as Ohio years, to me. At last all
the examinations were passed, and the members of the class were called
upon to record their choice of arms of service and regiments. I was
anxious to enter the cavalry, or dragoons as they were then called, but
there was only one regiment of dragoons in the Army at that time, and
attached to that, besides the full complement of officers, there were at
least four brevet second lieutenants. I recorded therefore my first
choice, dragoons; second, 4th infantry; and got the latter. Again there
was a furlough--or, more properly speaking, leave of absence for the
class were now commissioned officers--this time to the end of September.
Again I went to Ohio to spend my vacation among my old school-mates; and
again I found a fine saddle horse purchased for my special use, besides
a horse and buggy that I could drive--but I was not in a physical
condition to enjoy myself quite as well as on the former occasion. For
six months before graduation I had had a desperate cough ("Tyler's grip"
it was called), and I was very much reduced, weighing but one hundred
and seventeen pounds, just my weight at entrance, though I had grown six
inches in stature in the mean time. There was consumption in my
father's family, two of his brothers having died of that disease, which
made my symptoms more alarming. The brother and sister next younger
than myself died, during the rebellion, of the same disease, and I
seemed the most promising subject for it of the three in 1843.

Having made alternate choice of two different arms of service with
different uniforms, I could not get a uniform suit until notified of my
assignment. I left my measurement with a tailor, with directions not to
make the uniform until I notified him whether it was to be for infantry
or dragoons. Notice did not reach me for several weeks, and then it
took at least a week to get the letter of instructions to the tailor and
two more to make the clothes and have them sent to me. This was a time
of great suspense. I was impatient to get on my uniform and see how it
looked, and probably wanted my old school-mates, particularly the girls,
to see me in it.

The conceit was knocked out of me by two little circumstances that
happened soon after the arrival of the clothes, which gave me a distaste
for military uniform that I never recovered from. Soon after the
arrival of the suit I donned it, and put off for Cincinnati on
horseback. While I was riding along a street of that city, imagining
that every one was looking at me, with a feeling akin to mine when I
first saw General Scott, a little urchin, bareheaded, footed, with dirty
and ragged pants held up by bare a single gallows--that's what
suspenders were called then--and a shirt that had not seen a wash-tub
for weeks, turned to me and cried: "Soldier! will you work? No,
sir--ee; I'll sell my shirt first!!" The horse trade and its dire
consequences were recalled to mind.

The other circumstance occurred at home. Opposite our house in Bethel
stood the old stage tavern where "man and beast" found accommodation,
The stable-man was rather dissipated, but possessed of some humor. On
my return I found him parading the streets, and attending in the stable,
barefooted, but in a pair of sky-blue nankeen pantaloons--just the color
of my uniform trousers--with a strip of white cotton sheeting sewed down
the outside seams in imitation of mine. The joke was a huge one in the
mind of many of the people, and was much enjoyed by them; but I did not
appreciate it so highly.

During the remainder of my leave of absence, my time was spent in
visiting friends in Georgetown and Cincinnati, and occasionally other
towns in that part of the State.

CHAPTER III.

ARMY LIFE--CAUSES OF THE MEXICAN WAR--CAMP SALUBRITY.

On the 30th of September I reported for duty at Jefferson Barracks, St.
Louis, with the 4th United States infantry. It was the largest military
post in the country at that time, being garrisoned by sixteen companies
of infantry, eight of the 3d regiment, the remainder of the 4th.
Colonel Steven Kearney, one of the ablest officers of the day, commanded
the post, and under him discipline was kept at a high standard, but
without vexatious rules or regulations. Every drill and roll-call had
to be attended, but in the intervals officers were permitted to enjoy
themselves, leaving the garrison, and going where they pleased, without
making written application to state where they were going for how long,
etc., so that they were back for their next duty. It did seem to me, in
my early army days, that too many of the older officers, when they came
to command posts, made it a study to think what orders they could
publish to annoy their subordinates and render them uncomfortable. I
noticed, however, a few years later, when the Mexican war broke out,
that most of this class of officers discovered they were possessed of
disabilities which entirely incapacitated them for active field service.
They had the moral courage to proclaim it, too. They were right; but
they did not always give their disease the right name.

At West Point I had a class-mate--in the last year of our studies he was
room-mate also--F. T. Dent, whose family resided some five miles west of
Jefferson Barracks. Two of his unmarried brothers were living at home
at that time, and as I had taken with me from Ohio, my horse, saddle and
bridle, I soon found my way out to White Haven, the name of the Dent
estate. As I found the family congenial my visits became frequent.
There were at home, besides the young men, two daughters, one a school
miss of fifteen, the other a girl of eight or nine. There was still an
older daughter of seventeen, who had been spending several years at
boarding-school in St. Louis, but who, though through school, had not
yet returned home. She was spending the winter in the city with
connections, the family of Colonel John O'Fallon, well known in St.
Louis. In February she returned to her country home. After that I do
not know but my visits became more frequent; they certainly did become
more enjoyable. We would often take walks, or go on horseback to visit
the neighbors, until I became quite well acquainted in that vicinity.
Sometimes one of the brothers would accompany us, sometimes one of the
younger sisters. If the 4th infantry had remained at Jefferson Barracks
it is possible, even probable, that this life might have continued for
some years without my finding out that there was anything serious the
matter with me; but in the following May a circumstance occurred which
developed my sentiment so palpably that there was no mistaking it.

The annexation of Texas was at this time the subject of violent
discussion in Congress, in the press, and by individuals. The
administration of President Tyler, then in power, was making the most
strenuous efforts to effect the annexation, which was, indeed, the great
and absorbing question of the day. During these discussions the greater
part of the single rifle regiment in the army--the 2d dragoons, which
had been dismounted a year or two before, and designated "Dismounted
Rifles"--was stationed at Fort Jessup, Louisiana, some twenty-five miles
east of the Texas line, to observe the frontier. About the 1st of May
the 3d infantry was ordered from Jefferson Barracks to Louisiana, to go
into camp in the neighborhood of Fort Jessup, and there await further
orders. The troops were embarked on steamers and were on their way down
the Mississippi within a few days after the receipt of this order.
About the time they started I obtained a leave of absence for twenty
days to go to Ohio to visit my parents. I was obliged to go to St.
Louis to take a steamer for Louisville or Cincinnati, or the first
steamer going up the Ohio River to any point. Before I left St. Louis
orders were received at Jefferson Barracks for the 4th infantry to
follow the 3d. A messenger was sent after me to stop my leaving; but
before he could reach me I was off, totally ignorant of these events. A
day or two after my arrival at Bethel I received a letter from a
classmate and fellow lieutenant in the 4th, informing me of the
circumstances related above, and advising me not to open any letter post
marked St. Louis or Jefferson Barracks, until the expiration of my
leave, and saying that he would pack up my things and take them along
for me. His advice was not necessary, for no other letter was sent to
me. I now discovered that I was exceedingly anxious to get back to
Jefferson Barracks, and I understood the reason without explanation from
any one. My leave of absence required me to report for duty, at
Jefferson Barracks, at the end of twenty days. I knew my regiment had
gone up the Red River, but I was not disposed to break the letter of my
leave; besides, if I had proceeded to Louisiana direct, I could not have
reached there until after the expiration of my leave. Accordingly, at
the end of the twenty days, I reported for duty to Lieutenant Ewell,
commanding at Jefferson Barracks, handing him at the same time my leave
of absence. After noticing the phraseology of the order--leaves of
absence were generally worded, "at the end of which time he will report
for duty with his proper command"--he said he would give me an order to
join my regiment in Louisiana. I then asked for a few days' leave
before starting, which he readily granted. This was the same Ewell who
acquired considerable reputation as a Confederate general during the
rebellion. He was a man much esteemed, and deservedly so, in the old
army, and proved himself a gallant and efficient officer in two wars
--both in my estimation unholy.

I immediately procured a horse and started for the country, taking no
baggage with me, of course. There is an insignificant creek--the
Gravois--between Jefferson Barracks and the place to which I was going,
and at that day there was not a bridge over it from its source to its
mouth. There is not water enough in the creek at ordinary stages to run
a coffee mill, and at low water there is none running whatever. On this
occasion it had been raining heavily, and, when the creek was reached, I
found the banks full to overflowing, and the current rapid. I looked at
it a moment to consider what to do. One of my superstitions had always
been when I started to go any where, or to do anything, not to turn
back, or stop until the thing intended was accomplished. I have
frequently started to go to places where I had never been and to which I
did not know the way, depending upon making inquiries on the road, and
if I got past the place without knowing it, instead of turning back, I
would go on until a road was found turning in the right direction, take
that, and come in by the other side. So I struck into the stream, and
in an instant the horse was swimming and I being carried down by the
current. I headed the horse towards the other bank and soon reached it,
wet through and without other clothes on that side of the stream. I
went on, however, to my destination and borrowed a dry suit from my
--future--brother-in-law. We were not of the same size, but the clothes
answered every purpose until I got more of my own.