After General U. S. Grant had answered the last roll call at Mount McGregor, in 1885, and the sad news came to his friends and neighbors of his former home, among the hills of the quaint old city of Galena, Ill., preparations were made to have a memorial service in the Methodist Church, where he had worshiped before and after the war. The church was draped in mourning. In front of the pulpit was a stand of pure white flowers, with the initials, U. S. G., in purple flowers.
The pew formerly occupied by the General when here was covered with the United States flag, tastefully draped. The house was filled with his friends and neighbors, and a feeling of personal loss was felt by all. The services were simple but beautiful. Several of his personal friends spoke feelingly of the Great General’s life, among them the writer, and I am persuaded to close this appreciation by quoting my tribute given in 1885, in Galena, upon that occasion:
“The years glide swiftly by, the gray hairs come creeping on, and we boys of the army of twenty years ago are no longer boys, but men, whose numbers lessen each day as the months roll by.”
Twenty-four years have passed since we donned the blue and marched down the streets and off to war. The forms and faces and events of those times at this distance seem unreal and shadowy, like the remembrance of a dream, and yet today, in the midst of the great sorrow that hangs over the land over the fall of our great chieftain, we are again reminded of the waving flags and fluttering scarfs, the inspiring strains of martial music, the shrill notes of fife and drum, and the booming of cannon. We are today again reminded (for the death of our hero brings to us vividly the past days in which he took so great a part). I say, again are we reminded of the tears and prayers and promises—the music of soft voices and gentle words, the brave words spoken by mothers, sisters, sweethearts, the parting words, the last good-bye. We cannot forget, nay, we live over again the battles of Donelson, Shiloh, Corinth, Vicksburg and other victorious battle fields following our hero, whose memory we are tonight to cherish and revere.
“All these dear and sacred memories of those stirring times come wafted to us today like the weird airs of an Æolian harp swept by unknown winds, and the ear is touched, and through the brain, nerve and soul, and our hearts beat in sympathy and unison.
“So, tonight, as a nation mourns the fall of the Great Commander, we boys of the twenty-four years ago are more than privileged to add our tears of sorrow as we follow in spirit our hero to his last resting place.
“We boys loved him. Often he led us amidst the storm of shot and shell and where death faced us on every hand; but we soon learned that although it meant hard fighting to follow General Grant, yet it always promised victory, and that gave us inspiration to fight harder.
“General Grant was a man of transcendent military ability. In the book of fate it was written: ‘He shall be a chief and a captain.’ But above all he was a manly and a pure man. He was tender and trusty and true.
“‘The bravest are the tenderest,
The loving are the daring.’