‘I’m very glad to hear you say so,’ Edward replied. ‘I think so myself too, and I’m pleased to find you agree with me in the matter.—And your second reason?’
‘Well, I thought my colour might stand in my way in practice in England—very naturally, I’m not surprised at it; while in Trinidad I might be able to do a great deal of good and find a great many patients amongst my own people.’
‘But I’m afraid they won’t be able to pay you, you know,’ Nora interposed. ‘The poor black people always expect to be doctored for nothing.’
Dr Whitaker turned upon her a puzzled pair of simple, honest, open eyes, whose curious glance of mute inquiry could be easily observed even in the dim moonlight. ‘I don’t think of practising for money,’ he said simply, as if it were the most ordinary statement in the world. ‘My father has happily means enough to enable me to live without the necessity for earning a livelihood. I want to be of some use in my generation, and to help my own people, if possible, to rise a little in the scale of humanity. I shall practise gratuitously among the poorest negroes, and do what I can to raise and better their unhappy condition.’
‘UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER’ GRANT.
The 27th of April 1822 was a great day in Point Pleasant, a little pioneer settlement on the banks of the Ohio; for Jesse Grant’s wife presented him that day with a boy, and newcomers were rare in the little place. Every detail about the latest arrival was eagerly and quickly circulated; and if the men of the little town had learned in some mysterious way what Jesse Grant’s boy was afterwards to become, they could hardly have made more stir about him. But Jesse and his wife could not hit upon a name for their firstborn, and six weeks after his birth his only name was ‘Baby.’ A family council was held to settle the knotty question, and it was decided to ballot for a name! Each person present wrote the name he or she favoured on a slip of paper, and the slips were shaken up in a hat. The first drawn slip was to name the boy, and as it bore the name Ulysses, Ulysses was fixed on. But the ballot was not allowed to rule supreme, for the name of an honoured ancestor was added to the choice of the ballot; and the future President of the United States, and general of its armies, was christened as Hiram Ulysses Grant, a name that he lost by an accident in after-years.
Jesse Grant was a man of many parts, and not only conducted a tannery, but also—to quote Mr Thayer’s description of him in the interesting life of General Grant, to which we are indebted for the following incidents of his career (From Tanyard to White House, by W. M. Thayer. London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1885)—‘In addition to tanning, he ran a slaughter-house, did something at teaming, and occasionally erected a building for other parties.’ In a house where so many irons were in the fire, it will readily be understood there were no idlers, and Ulysses had early to take his share of the work. A passionate love of horses, that time only strengthened, was the outcome of his early acquaintance with them. At school he was famed only for a wonderful gift for mathematics, and a stern obstinacy that often carried him through a task in which a cleverer boy failed. One day a schoolmate declared of Grant, when a peculiarly difficult problem was under discussion: ‘His forte is in arithmetic, and he will dig away until he has got it; but I can’t do it!’—‘Can’t! can’t!’ responded Grant quizzically. ‘What does that mean?’ And away he rushed to the teacher’s desk to examine the dictionary. The boys looked on silently, awaiting to see what was afoot. ‘Can’t!’ exclaimed Ulysses; ‘there’s no such word in the dictionary,’ as he closed the volume. ‘It can be done.’
There was little in this obstinate determined youngster to foreshadow his great future, and it was with no small astonishment that his neighbours heard a phrenologist’s verdict on the lad. Let Mr Thayer tell the story: ‘After the lecturer had been blindfolded, a gentleman set Ulysses in the chair. The lecturer proceeded to examine his head, and continued so long without saying a word, that a citizen inquired “Do you discover any special ability for mathematics in that boy’s head?”—“Mathematics!” retorted the lecturer, as if that kind of ability did not cover the case. “You need not be surprised if this boy is President of the United States some day!”’ How far this judgment accorded with that of the audience, we may gather from Mr Thayer’s naive comment, that ‘it did not increase the reputation of the phrenologist in Mount Pleasant.’
Young Grant’s love of horses was a great hindrance to his progress at school. Ever more ready to go afield with the teams than to take his place in class, it is little wonder that, with the many opportunities for indulging his propensities which his father’s business afforded him, he did not achieve any marked success. As a child of seven he harnessed a young colt that had never before been harnessed, though, from his diminutive stature, he had to stand on an inverted corn-measure to fix the bridle. At nine, he astonished his father by asking if he might buy a horse—to be his own. He had saved enough money to buy a colt, and was anxious to have one. ‘But there is risk in buying a horse,’ his father reminded him. ‘And I am willing to take the risk, father.’ And he did—and from that day was never without a horse. This willingness to take risks was a keynote of Grant’s character, and many of his after-successes were due to it.
Schooldays over, Ulysses served for a while in his father’s tanyard; but he took a violent aversion to the business, and an equally strong craving for ‘an education.’ It was probably this desire for education, rather than any keen thirst for military life or glory, that caused him to seek admission to West Point—the Sandhurst of the United States—where a good general education was added to the necessary military course at little or no cost to the student. Each Congressional district was entitled to one student in the college, and application for the vacant cadetship of their district was made to their member by Jesse Grant on behalf of his son. The busy man made inquiries, and then, without referring to the father’s letter, claimed the appointment for ‘Ulysses Simpson Grant;’ and in this name Ulysses entered, and thus lost by accident the name he had gained by ballot.