I doubt whether a brighter illustration of pure magnanimity can be found in the annals of great men throughout all time and all nations than the spirit manifested by Grant in this letter. I regard him as more truly great in this exhibition of an excellent tone of mind than in even the glorious victories he won; for the most brilliant conquest in the field, without a noble spirit in the hero, only confers partial greatness. I have before said, in speaking of Grant as we saw him at West Point, that he was careful of the rights of others—the sublimest interpretation of the golden rule of Jesus Christ. At the moment when we find the illustrious soldier called to the capital to receive the real laurel he had nobly earned, he seems to pause and ask himself if he is not going to take the reward which in part belongs to others. On the night before he starts, he writes this splendid acknowledgment of his indebtedness to the two veterans who had so devotedly sustained him in his trying campaigns and in the actual shock of battle.
Sherman's letter in reply contains a tried soldier's estimate of Grant. His language is carefully guarded from exaggeration, and I have no hesitation in declaring that he might have made it even stronger, without doing violence to the truth, even in the era of Chattanooga. While I feel that my humble office as a chronicler of the events of a sublime life is overshadowed when such a man as Sherman speaks, justice to the reader compels me to insert the veteran's letter in my work, for his words carry an influence even beyond the inherent truth he utters.
"Dear General: I have your more than kind and characteristic letter of the 4th instant. I will send a copy to General McPherson at once. You do yourself injustice in assigning to us too large a share of the merits which have led to your high advancement. I know you approve the friendship I have ever professed to you, and will permit me to continue, as heretofore, to manifest it on all proper occasions.
"You are now Washington's legitimate successor, and occupy a position of almost dangerous elevation; but if you can continue, as heretofore, to be yourself,—simple, honest, and unpretending,—you will enjoy through life the respect and love of friends, and the homage of millions of human beings, that will award you a large share in securing to them and their descendants a government of law and stability.
"I repeat, you do General McPherson and myself too much honor. At Belmont you manifested your traits, neither of us being near. At Donelson, also, you illustrated your whole character. I was not near, and General McPherson in too subordinate a capacity to influence you.
"Until you had won Donelson, I confess I was almost cowed by the terrible array of anarchical elements that presented themselves at every point; but that admitted a ray of light I have followed since.
"I believe you are as brave, patriotic, and just, as the great prototype, Washington; as unselfish, kind-hearted, and honest as man should be. But the chief characteristic is the simple faith in success you have always manifested, which I can liken to nothing else than the faith a Christian has in his Savior.
"This faith gave you victory at Shiloh and Vicksburg. Also, when you have completed your preparations, you go into battle without hesitation, as at Chattanooga—no doubts, no reserves; and I tell you it was this that made us act with confidence. I knew, wherever I was, that you thought of me, and if I got in a tight place, you would help me, if alive.
"My only point of doubt was in your knowledge of grand strategy, and of books of science and history; but I confess your common sense seems to have supplied all these.
"Now as to the future. Do not stay in Washington; come west; take to yourself the whole Mississippi Valley. Let us make it dead sure, and I tell you the Atlantic slopes and the Pacific shores will follow its destiny, as sure as the limbs of a tree live and die with the main trunk. We have done much, but still much remains. Time and time's influence are with us. We could almost afford to sit still and let these influences work.
"Here lies the seat of the coming empire; and from the West, when our task is done, we will make short work of Charleston and Richmond, and the impoverished coast of the Atlantic.
Your sincere friend,
W.T. Sherman.
With no trumpet blast to herald his coming, Grant went on his way to Washington, travelling in haste, and mostly by special trains. He courted and sought privacy; but when it was discovered at the railroad stations that he was on the train, the people lustily cheered him, and crowded forward to obtain a sight of the great man of whom all had heard, but whom few had seen. He had never made a "progress" after any of his victories. Even the president had never seen him. He was well known to the soldiers, hardly at all to the civilians.
On his journey he received a telegram from General Halleck, so magnanimous in its tone as to leave not a doubt that the general-in-chief had been born into a new life. Grant was to displace him, but Halleck behaved handsomely; and in his generous appreciation of the illustrious soldier, I shall forever forget that he had ever snubbed and disgraced a greater than himself. The despatch was as follows: "The secretary of war directs me to say that your commission as lieutenant general is signed, and will be delivered to you on your arrival at the War Department. I sincerely congratulate you on this recognition of your distinguished and meritorious services."
On his arrival at the capital of the nation, where he had never spent more than a single day before, he proceeded quietly to Willard's with his son, who accompanied him on the journey. Singular as it may seem, he was not discovered. A vainer man than he would have been disgusted; but Grant so far sympathized with the rebels that he only wished to be "let alone." Without parade or ostentation, he went to the public table to dinner. Here, unfortunately for him, but to the great delight of the guests of the hotel, the secret came out. A member of Congress who was at the table recognized him, and, rising, he announced, to the dismay of Grant, we may well believe, "Gentlemen, the hero of Vicksburg is among us!" The congressman proposed his health, and this was the signal for the most enthusiastic cheering that ever greeted a laurelled hero coming home from the conquest. Grant rose from his chair, and merely bowed his acknowledgments, resuming his seat at the earliest practicable moment; for such a situation was as much worse than the bull-dog guns of Vicksburg as anything he could imagine. He was really a modest man; his conduct was not a Uriah Heep's affectation of humility. He was not insensible to the good opinion of the people, but the extravagant manifestation of it which obtains with our over-demonstrative countrymen was painfully embarrassing to him.
At Vicksburg Grant personally superintended the placing in position of a number of heavy guns. While the soldiers were digging out the embrasure, he stood on the top of the works, smoking his cigar, and coolly whittling a stick—the general inherits the pure tendencies of a New England Yankee from his ancestors. In this situation he was a conspicuous mark for rebel sharp-shooters, but he staid there till the guns were placed to his satisfaction, to the intense admiration of the men, who delight in exhibitions of pluck. I am of the opinion, if Grant had been whittling a stick when he was discovered and applauded at Willard's, he would have cut his fingers; for he is never intimidated except under the fire of a popular demonstration. I declare, upon my honor as a soldier and an historian, that Grant is not indifferent to the praise or blame of his fellow-citizens. I know that he is as keenly sensitive as any man living, though his will enables him to control his emotions. I have myself seen him under a fire of compliments, and studied the expression of his face. He is simply modest, even to diffidence. I never saw another man just like him in this respect. There is nothing awkward or repulsive in his manner.
For my own part, I do not see how any man, whatever big thing he has done, can stand still and take the most extravagant compliments as a matter of course; and of all the great men I ever knew in public life,—and I have known many,—I have been better satisfied with Grant's conduct, in the hour of his triumph, than with that of any other. I cannot describe his mien or manner, because it is indescribable. Kind words move him, and I have seen the glow upon his face, hardly perceptible, it is true, but still there, indicating true greatness of soul, in that he was not "puffed up," or, even worse, was not insensible.
Grant was beset with admirers; but when I consider the quality of a large portion of the crowd which gathers in any public place within the limits of the national capital,—the parasites and sycophants who strive to sun themselves in the smile of a great man,—I cannot wonder that Grant did not open his mouth to speak, even to thank the multitude for their kind appreciation. They beset him behind and before; and a man who could not make a speech on such an occasion was a miracle. "Silence was golden." With great difficulty could he make his way to his private room, where he sought shelter from the onslaught of admirers.