CHAPTER III
UNPRETENTIOUS LIEUTENANT GRANT

It was not until Grant came East during the Civil War that Longstreet began fully to appreciate his military ability. Grant’s successes at Donelson, Shiloh, and Vicksburg were but vaguely understood in the Army of Northern Virginia, where they were mainly ascribed to bad generalship on the Confederate side, and some blundering good luck on Grant’s part.

Lieutenant Grant, of the Fourth, had acquired great reputation at the Military Academy as an expert horseman. He was always the show rider upon great occasions. He greatly added to this reputation at Corpus Christi. He was regimental quartermaster, and had much to do with these horses. He bought several of the better class for his own use. While riding one and leading the others to water one day, just before the army moved to the Rio Grande, his colored servant lost the whole bunch, or perhaps sold them for his own account. He claimed that, throwing him off, they jerked loose and stampeded away. There was a joke among the boys that, upon being told of the incident, General Taylor humorously remarked, “Yes, I understand Mr. Grant lost five or six dollars’ worth of horses recently,” satirically referring to their extraordinary cheapness. Grant declined to buy more horses for his private use. Soon after, the army advanced to the Rio Grande, and foot officers had no use for horses.

The unpretentious Grant was soon famous throughout the army as a “bronco buster,” in the sense the term is now familiarly used. He would unhesitatingly mount and soon bring to terms the most vicious of wild horses. On horseback he was a very centaur. In no other manner could an animal unhorse Grant than by lying down and rolling over. A large group of interested officers one day had opportunity to observe his success in dealing with an unbroken horse. An Indian had brought to camp a splendid specimen which had struck Grant’s fancy, and for which he paid the record price of twelve dollars. It seemed to prance on springs of steel; its beautiful head was carried on high, and the noble eyes shot sparks of fire. While two grooms held it by lariats from either side, Grant blindfolded the stallion. Then the regulation accoutrements of Spanish saddle and heavy-bitted bridle were adjusted, and Grant mounted, his heels armed with an enormous pair of Mexican spurs.

Thus blindfolded, the beautiful animal had stood stock still, trembling like an aspen. The instant his eyes were uncovered he sprang forward like a shot. Grant held his seat firmly. Then the horse began to “buck,”​—​that is, to jump high into the air, at the same moment suddenly crooking his back upward with intent to throw off his burden. This was repeated time after time, of course without dislodging Grant, who was up to that sort of thing. The proceeding was greeted by the by-standers with shouts of laughter and yells of “Hang on, Grant,” “Don’t let him down you, old boy,” etc. The animal presently tired of this work, and at the proper juncture the cool-headed rider vigorously applied the spurs, at the same time loosening the rein, when the stallion plunged straight forward at a breakneck pace through the chaparral and cacti of the plain. The soldiers watched them until they disappeared, and the uninitiated wondered if they should ever see Grant alive again. Two hours later they returned at a slow walk, both exhausted, the horse’s head down and his sides wet with sweat and foam. He was conquered, and was thereafter as docile as any well-trained American horse.

When not on duty, Grant’s chief amusement at Corpus Christi was horseback riding. He was no sportsman, and only occasionally played “brag” for small stakes. Longstreet’s classmate, Lieutenant Benjamin, of the Fourth Artillery, came in one day with a story about Grant’s one attempt at gunning for turkeys. The two, on a short leave with other officers, had made a journey on horseback to Austin late in the fall of 1845, accompanying a train of supplies. Returning, the party was reduced to three,​—​Benjamin, Grant, and Lieutenant Augur, afterwards major-general in the Union army. Augur fell sick and was left at Goliad, to be picked up by a train following. At Goliad Grant and Benjamin went out to shoot turkeys. Benjamin was a good shot and soon returned to camp with several fine birds. He found Grant already in, but without any game. The latter said that a large flock of turkeys had taken flight in twos and threes from branches of the pecan-trees overhead, some of them calmly looking at him several moments before taking wing. He had watched them with much interest until the last turkey had disappeared. Then it suddenly occurred to him that he had come out to shoot turkeys. “I concluded, Benjamin, from this circumstance,” explained Grant, with much chagrin, “that I was not cut out for a sportsman, so I returned to the house, confident you would bring in plenty of birds.” This explanation was offered with the utmost simplicity, and Benjamin repeated it with much unction. Poor Benjamin did not live to see the heights of fame reached by the little lieutenant who did not know enough to shoot wild turkeys in 1845. He was killed at the storming of the city of Mexico, September 13, 1847.

These anecdotes of a distinguished man naturally find place in a potpourri paper of this kind, but their special purpose is to show Grant’s personal characteristics, and in some sort the estimate placed upon him by his comrades of sixty years ago. But in those days the young fellows of the army fooled away no time in estimating upon the intellectual capacity of even the most promising associate. Grant was just simply an unobtrusive, every-day second lieutenant, without special promise or remarkable traits. It must be said that no one looked upon him then as the coming great man of the greatest war of civilized times. Rather quiet, seldom seeking crowds, Grant nevertheless enjoyed his friends, and among them was both a voluble and interesting talker. The alleged taciturnity of the later time was assumed to shut off busybodies​—​it was only judicious reticence. He was quickly known as a very brave and enterprising soldier in action, and, in fact, distinguished himself under both Taylor and Scott. He and Longstreet were intimate friends from 1839 through the seven years ending with the Mexican War, and often met in friendliest relations after the Civil War. Grant never forgot a friend in need.

It was not until Grant came East during the Civil War that Longstreet began to fully appreciate his military ability. Grant’s successes at Donelson, Shiloh, and Vicksburg were but vaguely understood in the Army of Northern Virginia, where they were mainly ascribed to bad generalship on the Confederate side, and some blundering good luck on Grant’s part. But after the war was over and access was had to the inside history of those events, Longstreet soon perceived that the Vicksburg campaign was one of the greatest in military history, and that Pemberton’s destruction was almost wholly due to Grant’s bold conception of the military requirements to fulfil the expectations of his government.