Democratic Sentinel, Volume 9, Number 13, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 April 1885 — ANECDOTES OF GRANT. [ARTICLE]

ANECDOTES OF GRANT.

Grant as a Smoker—A Habit That Dates from Shiloh. Senator Hawley’s Recollections of the Republican Convention of 1868. Gen. Grant’s First Nomination for the Presidency. Senator Hawley, writes a Washington correspondent, was aked lor some reminiscence of the Republican National Convention of 1868, and Gen. Grant’s first nomination for the Presidency. He gave the foliowing: “At the Republican National Convention of 1868, ail who were present will remember the absolute unanimity and enthusiasm with which Gen. Grant received bis first nomination for the Presidency. It was with difficulty that the convention could be restrained mid confined to the regular orderly proceedings, for the great multitude seemed determined to anticipate the proceedings and nominate the General with one great shout, while those who desired a more Impressive and effective proceeding restrained all irregularities, and in due course of things the names of every State aud Territory were callo'd, and the leader of each delegation formally gave its full vote for Ulysses S. Grant, each successive announcement being received .with a roll of applause, and at the summing of the whole, the convention breaking into a tremendous and overwhelming demonstration that died away and rose again for many minutes. It was but recording the unanimous wish of the party: it was a result which no man contrived, and which no man could have prevented. As President of the convention, it bocame my duty to lead the committee that was instructed to proceed to Washington and formally notify the General.

“Arriving in Washington, the committee requested me to call upon the General and ask him for his wishes concerning the more formal proceedings. The late Senator Ferry, -of Connecticut, accompanied me. Gen. Grant received us with his usual quiet and simple cordiality, and we sat with him for possibly an hour in his library. The arrangements for the next day were easily made, but the General seemed inclined to talk, and, of course, we wero only too glad to listen. Some of his expressions I remember with exactness; others I can give correctly in substance. “He said, ‘lf this wero simply a matter of personal preference and satisfaction, I would not wish to be President. I have now arrived at the extreme limit of the ambition of a soldier. I was at the head of the army of the United States during the great decisive war. I remain the head of the army, with the country reunited and at peace, as I believe it is to be for many years—l hope forever. The poople speak kindly of me, even ■our fellow citizens of the South, many of them. If 1 remain where I am, as time passes and the animosities of the war die away, I do not see why I should not be at peace with all men. The pay of the position abundantly provides for myself and my family. What more could a man wish? To go into the Presidency opens altogether a new field to me, in which there is to be a new strife, to which I am not trained. It may be that I should fail In giving satisfaction to the country. Then I should go out at the end of my political service having reduced the number of my friends and lost my position as a soldier. That is a very disagreeable possibility. But there Is nothing to be said; there is npchoice left for me; there is nothing else to do.’ “This he repeated several times: ‘I have ■no choice whatever but submission.’ He spoko with a serious respect for the groat place, and a sense of Its responsibilities. It Is not possible that the gratitude of the people and the unanimity with which he was sought should have been otherwise than agneeable to any man But at that moment he seemed to be dwelling upon the pleasant things which ho surrendere*. in accepting the nomination, and yet to go forward with the simple obedience of a thorough soldier. “When the committee called upon Gen. Grant the next day, I held in my hand the manuscript of the few remarks in which I made the formal announcement The General replied without notes and without hesitation. The accurate stenographic report •shows that he replied with as much aptness as though he had taken a day to prepare. “The most precious autograph In my collection is the letter of acceptance, which was addressed to me as the President of the convention, and In which occurs the famous expression, ‘Let us have peace.’ It is all In his •own hand, was his first draft, and contains •only one correction, the change of a word, at the suggestion of Schuyler Colfax.'*

An Incident at The Hague. In the popular imagination Gen. Grant has -always been associated with a cigar. He has been called the greatest smoker in the wor d. It is a marked peculiarity of the man. When at The Hague in his tour around the world, -at the dinner tendered in his honor by the Dutch King, cigar 3 were either omitted in the menu, or perhaps it was thought discourteous to smoke in the presence of royalty. When Gen. Grant was, therefore, observed to lake a cigar from his pocket and complacently light it, in the presence of the King, there was a murmur of surprise. ■“ But, then,” it was said, “he is a great man —a very great man.” In the simplicity of the Dutch Court it was thought, probably, that none but the very great would dare to amoke on such an occasion. It is generally believed that Gen. Grant has been an incessant smoker ever since his boyhood. It may -be news to many to learn that it is only since the famous battle »f Shiloh that the General became so fond of the weed. A Commercial Gaze'.te reporter, in conversation with an intimate Cincinnati friend of ■Grant, was told the story of the “cigar. ’ The General, in speaking to a Cincinnati friend of the popular idea that he was alftelong smokor, said that prior to the battle of Sbiloh he rarely—very rarely—smoked; that only once in a great while did he “take a smoke,” and that it had never been a habit, much less a pleasure. At the battle of Shiloh lie chanced to smoke a cigar, while riding over the field, and the newspaper correspondents, seizing upon the incident, described it graphically in their accounts of the battle to the papers in the North. The idea of a victorious commander of a great army, in the midst of frightful scenes of carnage and destruction, surrounded by tho dangers of battle, with a nation’s life hanging on the result, looking on calmly and serenely—complacently smoking a cigar—when most men would be overcome with excitement, if not nervousness, was something that appealed irresistibly to popular admiration. I/ere was a man who was not to be frighten'd by the dangers of war, who knew that in wai the mass of men are almost frantic with the fire pi battle; that it moant death and destruction; that this was the business of war, and the coolness of his mind seemed to say: “The only way to do is to strike blow upon blow, and thus crush the rebellion.”

It was not ttao Idea of a butoher, but the Idea of war, and the mistake of the Army of the Potomac was In not recognizing it and failing to follow up a victory, or “loaving its ■work only half finished,’* as Gen. Grant expresses it, for fear there would be greater losses.

Grant’s admirers and friends, reading of the accounts of the battle, supposed him to be a great smoker, and almost deluged him with cigars. Every express brought boxes of oigars as presents from his Northern friends. As the General said, “there were always two or three boxes on the table in my tent or headquarters free for the use of my staff and visitors. Having them always at hand it was but natural that I should every

little while take a fresh cigar, and in that way the habit grew upon me so that it became Irresistible, and the people no doubt are right In calling me an inveterate smoker.” —Cincinnati Commercial Gazette.

His Kindness to Reporters. [New York Times.] Gen. Grant bas always been a hero among newspaper men. Ever courteous and kind, I have known him to spend valuable time and expend much labor to help out some poor reporter who chanced to intrude upon him. He was chary of talk about himself; he could seldom be tempted into severe criticisms of anybody else, but I have known him to go tar out of his way to say a good word for a brother officer, the more particularly when good words were none toe plenty in that brother's quarter. There’s not a newspaper man in the land that has been brought into contact with the oil commander who will not corroborate this testimony. I remember especially one night when it fell to my lot to send my card up to Gen. Grant's rooms, in the Fifth Avenue Hotel. He had just returned from a long journey, and his trunks were scarcely unpacked. A host of friends crowded his apartments. The bell-boy came back to say that the General would be obliged to ask that the call be postponed, unless it was of an urgent nature. “Brig. Gen. Emory Upton has committed suicide in California,” was what I wrote back. “Can you tell me anything about his career?” “The General says come right up,” was the bell-boy’s salute a few minutes later. Had I owned the earth I could not have been welcomed more cordially. Mrs. Grant, at one end of the room, with Gen. Badeau, seemed to be holding an informal reception. The General withdrew from the party, and seated me before him off in a distant corner. It was the first time I had over seen the hero indoors, which may acoount for what then seemed to me—and 1 have a pretty vivid memory of It yet—a sad display of bashfulness that jumbled up my words and sent Ideas helterskelter. I’ve noticed that heroes are doubly awesome in' private, till you get real well acquainted with them. But this time confusion did not long remain. Gen. Grant was evidently deeply interested in the story that had come over the wires from San Francisco; he asked mo for all the detail?. “I am sorry, ’ he said, “that I cannot toll you much about Upton, but the fact is that I personally do not know much about him.” I did get some information, though, and afterward my narrator drifted away into the most, interesting reminiscences of the Mexican and civil wars that one could wish to hear. Time passed quickly by, and I still found myself deeply absorbed in the talk poured out with a strange freedom for one who will go down in the history of characteristics as the silent man. Not once did the hero speak in selfglorification ; it was of others wholly that he talked, and of them only In the kindliest terms. It seemed to be of the inspiring things, the valiant things, bravery and dash, and dogged fighting that he spoke. There was nothing sour about him. I almost forgot my assignment, so interested did I become; and I could not suppress an ejaoulation to that effect when I looked up at the timepiece. “Never mind,” was my entertainer’s crumb of comfort; “never mind. You’ve plenty of time yet, and I only hope you can get some thing out of the nonsense I’ve told you.” I did get something out of It; only a paragraph for the next day’s Times, but a remembrance that will enliven all my years.

His Drive with Gov. Jewell. One of Gen. Grant’s visits to Connecticut as the guest of Marshall Jewell, who took unusual pains to entertain him, serves as a text for a timely jolting. Gov. Jewell was determined to make the visit of Gen. Grant to Hartford memorable. He rattled the dry bones of Connecticut’s capital city. When the excitement had gradually simmered down he was driven to the last resort of a Sunday afternoon drive. With his fastest bit of horseflesh, his visitor and himself flew along the streets in the early evening hour. Grimly in his seat sat the General, his black felt hat flapping up and down in the'current produced by the mare’s rapid gaVt. On the outskirts of the town the General, who had been leisurely looking about him, all at once broke out: “See here; What’s that ahead of us?” “Oh, that’s a driving park—a pet project of ours.” “Can you get us through that gateway there?” “Oh, yes,” quoth Mr. Jewell, ready to show the fine park to the observant warrior. “All right,” remarked the General; “now you just sit quiet for a bit, and I’ll show you what driving is.” And he did show him. Before the Hartford ex-tanner recovered from his amazement, Gen. Grant had taken the reinsintohis own hands, and in a second the light vehicle whs whirling round and round the well-kept track. The hostlers came out to the rails, and watched and grinned as the little mare went speeding about the circle with dripping flanks. Gov. Jewell’s excitement was aggravated by the loss of his high silk hat, which long ago*had been swept from his head. Still the pace was kept up, and never slackened until, in genuine alarm, the Postmaster General shrieked out, as he jolted up and down on the cushion, “In the name of heaven, General, how long do you intend to keep this thing up?” As they slowly journeyed homeward a half hour later, the President, giving up the reins, remarked, “It’s a good thing, Marshall, to go to church on Sunday, a very good thing. We’ve done that. But I do tell you there's nothing that starts up a supper appetite like a whirl along a fair-ground track behind a horse that's not afraid to use his legs.” This was the last time the Hartford man ever trusted himself in a buggy with U. S. Grant for driver.— New York Times.

Grant's Love for Horses. Grant’s love for horses is a matter of history. He was a fine horseback rider as a boy at his little country home in Georgetown, Ohio, through which he loved to ride standing in his bare feet on a sheepskin tied to the back of his horse. The only thing he really axcelled in at West Point was his riding. He was the most daring rider of the school, and in jumping the bar the officers who were aocustomed to hold the bar over which the horses were to go as low as their waists for the others, put it up even with and above their beads when it was Grant’s turn to jump. He saved his life in Mexico by his riding abilities by throwing himself at the side instead of staying on the back of his horse, and when he was in the White House his horses were the wonder of Washington. Grant’s Arabian horses, are, I think, on Gen. Beale’s farm, near Washington. They were given him by the Sultan while he was in Turkey in 1878. The Sultan had taken him over his palaces and grounds, and finished up with his stables. He had his attendants sh ow offhis finest horses, and asked Grant to pick out the finest for himself, telling him he would make him a present of it. Grant at first was reluctant to acoept so valuable a gift, but one of the Sultan’s officers interposed, telling him ho would offend his Majesty by a refusal. He then selected a dapple gray Arabian steed, and the Sultan formally presented it to him. The Sultan afterward sent it to him at New York, adding to his present another Arabian as black as jet and as magnificent in form as the one Grant had chosen. The two horses arrived in New York in the latter part of the following year, and sporting men admired them greatly. They were taken to a blacksmith's to be shod, and many persons came to see them, trying to buy their old shoes or even the nails as mementos. When the horses were taken from the boat to the stables, one of them kicked a spoke from a carriage which they passed, and it cost Grant sl2 to pay the damages.— Carp, in Cleveland Herald.