MY FIRST INTERVIEW WITH GENERAL GRANT.
A LARGE army had been thrown in and about Cairo, Ill., and General S. R. Curtis of Iowa gave me a letter and a pass to go down and visit the hospitals there. General Grant was in command, with headquarters at Cairo. Fortunately for me, I had friends at that point. The great hospitals were at Mound City, six miles above. I missed the boat that plied between the two places at irregular hours, and my friends proposed that we call upon General Grant. We found the modest, quiet, uncrowned hero busy at his desk, with his staff and orderlies about him. I was painfully conscious that I had no business of sufficient importance to warrant such an intrusion upon the man who stood between us and the army threatening that city that hour. I had not thought of that before coming. But I felt very grateful to my friend, who came at once to my aid, by explaining that I had come down from St. Louis to visit the hospitals, and was the bearer of a letter and pass from General Curtis, and that I also had a pass from General Frémont, and had merely called to pay my respects.
We fell at once into pleasant conversation, and I found that the General was personally acquainted with friends and relatives of my own.
“I will send you up to Mound City,” he said.
“Oh, don’t trouble yourself. I can go up to-morrow,” I urged.
But he was writing an order, and soon despatched an orderly with it to Captain somebody. Immediately my pride took alarm. What if he should send me to Mound City on one of those screaming, whistling little tug-boats?
“Have you met my medical director?” he asked.
“No, I have not met him,” I was forced to answer.
“I will send him up with you,” and an orderly was despatched to command his presence. Directly the boat was reported as ready; and the General himself accompanied me to the boat—the City of Memphis—the largest and finest steamer on the Mississippi River.
The General simply said, “Take this lady to Mound City, and remain till she is ready to return. Wait for the Medical Director, and till I leave the boat.” So I was for a little space of time the commander of the biggest steamer on the Mississippi River. As I walked the length of that great boat, so rich and gaudy in tinsel and curtains and furniture, the patriotic blood coursed hotly through my veins. Why this extravagance? Why this pomp and display? And when the medical director, who was supposed to be in charge of all of the sick and dying in that great army, came in full military dress, with gloves and sash and sword and spurs, my heart sank down to zero. But I was not long in reaching the truth, and changing my mind. A dozen boats or more had just been impressed into the United States service, and lay there at the wharf with steam up. They had not yet been dismantled; and it was the kindly, proper thing to do to send me to Mound City, and it was military etiquette for the medical director to dress as he did. I was afterwards on the same boat many times; once after Sherman’s defeat at Yazoo, when there were seven hundred and fifty wounded and sick soldiers on board. General Grant was just gathering these boats, and these forces, that he might move on Fort Donelson.