LIFE-LONG FRIENDSHIP OF GRANT AND LONGSTREET
I may be pardoned for digressing here to speak of the strong school-boy friendship which began at West Point between Grant and Longstreet and lasted throughout their lives. Grant was of the class after Longstreet, but somehow their silent serious natures were in spontaneous accord, and they became fast friends from their first meeting. That one was from the West and one from the South made no difference, just as later it made no difference in their feeling of personal affection that one led the army of the Union and the other the army of the Confederacy.
After their graduation at West Point they were both stationed at Jefferson Barracks near St. Louis. The Dent family lived near by; Longstreet was a cousin. And he was particularly fond of his cousin Julia Dent! He took his friend Grant out to see her, and the result of the introduction was their marriage five years later. There was such a contrast between her tall cousin James and her short admirer, Ulysses, that her friends often joked her about “the little lieutenant with the big epaulettes.”
Grant and Longstreet went through the Mexican War together, and their boyhood friendship was indissolubly cemented by the associations of camp life on the Mexican border. Longstreet went in as a lieutenant and came out as a major. General Worth apologized, giving Longstreet’s youth as an excuse for not recommending him for higher promotion. Promotions in the army in those days were not so rapid as at the present time.
The first meeting of Grant and Longstreet during the Civil War was not a personal meeting; it was when they were leading opposing forces at the battle of the Wilderness. It is known to all students of our Civil War history that the Confederate forces led by Longstreet were getting all the better of it at the Wilderness and that the Union forces under Grant were being driven back, when Longstreet was shot down and carried from the field. He was leading his men, after his custom,—he never followed, never told them to go, but always bade them come. He was at this crucial point at the battle of the Wilderness far in advance of his men—so far in advance that they mistook him for the enemy and fired upon him. Shot through the shoulder and the throat, wounded nigh unto death, he was taken from the field. With this calamity discovered, the Confederates held up in their swift advance. The impression rapidly spread that Longstreet was killed. The surgeons and attendants who were bearing him to the rear called out to the soldiers and asked that the cry be sent down the lines: “Longstreet is not killed, he is only wounded.” The men who had seen him fall cried out, “They are fooling us; he is dead.” General Longstreet has said that he heard both cries; he knew he was not dead, but did not know how soon he might be; he had just strength enough left to lift his hat. For this purpose he exerted that strength, and waved his hat to his men that they might see that he still lived. But the genius of the battle of the Wilderness borne to the rear, even the ever dauntless Confederates could not follow up the advantage they had won.
The next meeting of these two personal friends and opposing generals was at Appomattox. In the beginning of that momentous conference General Lee called General Longstreet to him and asked him, in case honorable terms of surrender should not be offered, and in the ensuing developments it should be necessary for the Confederates to fight their way out, if he would stand by him. Longstreet replied that he would fight and die fighting.
General Longstreet often spoke of the details of the capitulation at Appomattox. He said that when he went into the conference-room, in the McLean residence, as one of the Confederate Commissioners, he was compelled to pass through the room occupied by General Grant as his head-quarters. He felt curious to know how General Grant would receive him. He had loved Grant as one of his closest boyhood friends, but times were much changed. Grant was victor, he was vanquished. He was therefore prepared to observe the rigid demeanor of those between whom ceremony only forces recognition. But immediately he entered the room Grant rose, approached him with a greater show of demonstration than ever in the olden days, and slapped him on the shoulder, exclaiming, “Well, Old Pete, can’t we get back to the good old days by playing a game of brag?” At West Point the nickname among the boys for General Longstreet was “Old Pete.” No one ever knew why, any more than they know why this or that college president is designated Peleg or Squeers.
It has often been related by General Longstreet and by others that General Lee went into the Appomattox conference dressed in full uniform, and making withal the best appearance that this most noble soldier in his dire defeat could make. General Grant, on the contrary, had not dressed up for the occasion. He wore his old fighting uniform, mud bespattered, evidencing no acquaintance even with a dusting-brush. The important part of that meeting, the splendid bearing of the conquered Confederates, the modest demeanor of the Union victors, and, above all, the noble generosity of Grant in refusing to accept the sword of Lee and in giving the fairest terms possible under the existing conditions,—these are known to all who have read United States history. When General Lee rode back to his head-quarters from this fateful conference, his half-starved, ragged, worn-out, worshipful followers saluted him from both sides of the road. Overcome with emotion, he dared not look directly into their faces. He held his hat in his hand and fixed his eyes straight between his horse’s ears. The parting at Appomattox between Lee and his officers was most kindly, affectionate, and touching in every instance. But when General Longstreet approached, General Lee threw his arms about him, and, locked in each other’s embrace, the two wept with a bitterness of regret that ordinary mortals can never understand.
Soon after the war General Longstreet visited Washington and was invited to be the guest of a Union officer. He protested against accepting the invitation, saying that it was too soon after the fighting. But the insistence was so cordial as to leave no excuse for refusal. Once under an officer’s roof, it became his pleasant duty to pay his respects to the commanding general, who was, of course, General Grant. Grant received him with all his old-time cordiality, and invited him to take supper at his house that evening, saying quickly, as enforcement of the invitation, that his wife would be anxious to see him. The evening was pleasantly spent, and upon taking his leave, General Grant walked to the gate with General Longstreet, where he said, “Now that it is all over, would you not like to have pardon?” General Longstreet replied, with a touch of Southern fire, that he was unaware of having done anything in need of pardon. General Grant replied that he had perhaps used the wrong word, as he was more of a soldier than a linguist; that he meant to ask if General Longstreet would like to have amnesty. General Longstreet answered that he was back in the Union, meant to live in the Union, was ready at that moment to fight for the Union, and would be happy if his old friend could place him in the way of restored citizenship. General Grant requested him to come again to his office the following morning, and said that in the mean time he would see the President and Secretary of War in General Longstreet’s behalf. In the morning he gave General Longstreet a letter to President Johnson full of warm interest and broad-mindedness characteristic of Grant, which is here reproduced:
“Head-quarters Armies of the United States,
Washington, D. C., November 7, 1865.“His Excellency, A. Johnson,
“President:“Knowing that General Longstreet, late of the army which was in rebellion against the authority of the United States, is in the city, and presuming that he intends asking executive clemency before leaving, I beg to say a word in his favor.
“General Longstreet comes under the third, fifth, and eighth exceptions made in your proclamation of the 29th of May, 1865. I believe I can safely say that there is nowhere among the exceptions a more honorable class of men than those embraced in the fifth and eighth of these, nor a class that will more faithfully observe any obligation which they may impose upon themselves. General Longstreet, in my opinion, stands high among this class. I have known him well for more than twenty-six years, first as cadet at West Point and afterwards as an officer of the army. For five years from my graduation we served together, a portion of the time in the same regiment. I speak of him, therefore, from actual personal acquaintance.
“In the late rebellion, I think, not one single charge was ever brought against General Longstreet for persecution of prisoners of war or of persons for their political opinions. If such charges were ever made, I never heard them. I have no hesitation, therefore, in recommending General Longstreet to your Excellency for pardon. I will further state that my opinion of him is such that I shall feel it as a personal favor to myself if this pardon is granted.
“Very respectfully, your obedient servant,
“U. S. Grant,
“Lieutenant-General.”
Armed with this letter, General Longstreet sought President Johnson. In the interview that followed the presentation of the letter the President was nervous, ill at ease, and somewhat resentful. He would not decide to grant the request, and he would not positively refuse. Finally, he asked General Longstreet to call again the following morning. At this next meeting he was still non-committal, and at length closed the interview by saying, “There are three men this Union will never forgive. They have given it too much trouble. They are Jefferson Davis, Robert E. Lee, and James Longstreet.” General Longstreet said, “Those who are forgiven much, love much, Mr. President.” Johnson answered, “You have high authority for that statement, General, but you cannot have amnesty.” It was shortly afterwards granted by act of Congress, General Longstreet’s name being added to a list of prominent Confederate officers by the especial request of Grant.
These incidents in the associations of Grant and Longstreet come in naturally in a paper of this kind. I always think of them together,—as chums at West Point; as comrades in the West and on the fields of Mexico; as opposing forces in the mightiest war the world has witnessed; and after that war was ended, as good friends again in the stronger nation.
President Johnson, who had started out with the plan of being generous to the South, and for some unknown reason departed from that policy, conceived the idea of having arrested and thrown into prison and tried for treason a number of the high officers of the Confederacy. He called for a Cabinet meeting to get an endorsement of this plan, and sent for General Grant to attend the meeting. He forcibly presented his reasons for the procedure, and asked for the opinions of those present. After much discussion there was general acquiescence by the Cabinet. “The silent man of destiny” was the last member of the conference to open his lips. He said, “I will resign my commission in the army before I will, as commanding general, sign a warrant for the arrest of any of these Confederate officers as long as they observe the honorable terms of surrender made to me.”
It would be easy to write a book about a statement like that, but the book when written would not be as good as the unadorned statement.
The illustrious Union general’s noble generosity to the conquered South is an old tale. But it is so beautiful that it bears repetition, and I love to repeat it. I have digressed from the main line of this paper to pay to General Longstreet’s boyhood friend the modest tribute of my admiration. From early childhood I reverenced Grant. I always regarded him as the greatest man, the greatest general, the greatest hero on the Union side. I have now a life-size steel-engraving of him that I secured when a girl. This was long before I knew much of that side of his life which has since most appealed to me. My admiration of him has been in every way strengthened by the stories General Longstreet told me of him, particularly the stories showing his generosity to his foes and his many private and official kindnesses to the widows and orphans of Confederate officers and privates. Of these stories I give one typical of many: When Grant was President, a widow of a Confederate officer applied for a post-office in a small Southern town. Hearing nothing of her application, she came to Washington to press it. She was unable to move the authorities at the Post-Office Department, and was about to go home in despair, when a friend suggested that it might be worth while for her to see the President. With much effort she summoned courage and appeared at the White House. The President received her in a most friendly manner, and after hearing her story took her application and wrote a brief but strong endorsement on the back of it. She hurried in triumph to the Post-Office Department. The official to whom she presented the application frowned and pondered over it for some time, and then wrote under the President’s endorsement: “This being a fourth-class office, the President does not have the appointing power.” The application was handed back to her, and she went away in deep distress, and was again preparing to return home, when another friend told her by all means to take the paper back to the President so that he might see how his endorsement had been received. She did so. The President wrote under the last endorsement: “While the President does not have the appointing power in this office, he has the appointment of the Postmaster-General,” and, summoning his secretary, directed him to accompany the lady to the Department and in person deliver her application to the Postmaster-General. It is needless to add that she received the commission before leaving the office.
While on a tour through the West in 1899, General Longstreet was entertained in San Diego, California, at a dinner at the home of U. S. Grant, Jr. After dinner he requested the company to stand while he proposed a toast. We expected, perhaps, some pleasantry or gallant compliment to the hostess. He said: “Thirty-odd years ago I first met General Grant in the Civil War at the Wilderness, and there received the wound that paralyzed my right arm. During the fiercest warfare this nation has seen, General Grant was the strongest obstacle that stood between me and my people and the consummation of the dearest hopes that they then cherished. Now, in this day of peace and union, with not a cloud upon the sky of a reunited country, in the presence of General Grant’s descendants, under the roof of his namesake son, I want to drink this toast to the memory of Grant, revered alike by the brave men who fought with him and the equally brave men who fought him.”