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Section one of Ulysses S. Grant. This is a LibriVox recording.
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by David Wales. Ulysses S. Grant by Owen Wister, author's
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preface and Chapters one and two author's preface. This short
book is derived from long ones, from pamphlets, speeches, essays,
and newspapers, from certain pages of the official records, and
from a few personal memories kindly given by friends of
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general Grant to the writer. These latter change nothing in
the features, but serve to touch up the likeness of
the established portrait. Grant is a large figure to pack
in a small box. The task been one of omission.
Those authors to whom the writer is most grateful are Richardson, Fisk, Copey, Porter, Humphreys, Sherman, Sheridan, Newhall, Rhodes,
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and Bedeaux Grant. In peace, the writer will think that
he has made his own contribution to the subject if
he shall have tempted any reader to become more thoroughly
acquainted with it. Owen Wister, Philadelphia, August one, nineteen hundred
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Chapter one, At the age of thirty nine, Grant was
an obscure failure in a provincial town. To him and
his family, for whom he could not earn needful bread,
his father had become a last shelter against the struggle
for life. Not all the neighbors knew his face. At
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the age of forty three, his picture hung in the
homes of grateful millions. His name was joined with Washington's.
A little while, and we see him step down amid
discordant reproach from Washington's chair, having helplessly presided over scandal
and villainy, blacker than the country had thus far witnessed. Next,
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his private integrity is darkly overcast, and the stroke kills him,
but death clears his sky. At the age of sixty three,
Grant died, and the people paused to mourn and honor
him devotedly. All the neighbors know his face to day.
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Chapter two. None of our public men have a story
so strange as this. It is stranger than Lincoln's. It
is very much the strangest of them all. We have
been too near the man and his time to see
them clear. Through personal, political and military feelings, mostly violent,
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all the people are not dead yet. Nearly all the
writers have a case to argue. Sheridan must justify his
treatment of Warren. Sherman must bolster up Shiloh Beauregard must
diminish Sidney Johnston. But Oh must be little mead. And
also the losses in the wilderness. These are mere instances.
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The heroes and their biographers all right alike, inevitably moved
and biased by the throb of proximity. Such books are
not history. They make inspiring material when read in each
other's light. They are personal reminiscences. History never begins until
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reminiscence is ended. Even mister Ropes, in his championing of
Buell the Soldier, omits Buell the man now Buell, sulking
over his wrongs, declined when invited to come back and
take a command again. He found his dignity more important
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to him than the union grant meeting singular injustice. After winning,
Donelson has such words as these to say, if my
course is not satisfactory, remove me at once. I do
not wish to impede in any way the success of
our arms. Good authority rates Buell a more military soldier
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than Grant, and very likely he was. But Buell thought
of himself and forgot his country, while Grant thought of
his country and forgot himself. Out of this very contrast
of bright light falls and we begin to see Grant
writing intemperately. His friends explain him as a sort of Napoleon,
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his enemies as a dull blunderer accidentally reaping the glory
which other people sowed. These extremes meet in error. We
have not produced a Napoleon, and military talents of greater
brilliancy than Grant's fought on both sides purely as Captains Lee, Jackson,
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Sherman Thomas, if not others, are likely to stand higher.
While Sheridan, during his brief opportunity, proved such a thunderbolt
that did history no men by their promise instead of
by their fruits. He might outshine the whole company and
rank with Charles of Sweden or Conde. Yet Grant sits
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above and apart. Is this accident? Is it accident that
at the beginning of a certain four years, this middle
aged man should be nobody, and at the end should
be the one commander out of all to win and
retain the supreme confidence of his government and his people.
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It has been called accident by some grown up writers.
His own words give the unconscious explanation. I feel as
sure of taking Richmond as I do of dying. Not
mc clellan, not Meed, not Lincoln himself, not any one
at all, had ever been able to feel as sure
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as that. This utter certainty of the Union's success burned
in Grant like a central fire, and with all his
limitations made his will a great natural force which gravitated
simply and irresistibly to its end. Lincoln, beginning to feel
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it from afar, answered the grave complaints that rose after
the carnage of Shiloh. I can't spare this man. He fights,
and presently, during the impatient days of Vicksburg failures, he insists,
I rather like the man. I think we'll try him
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a little longer. Finally comes the renowned remark, when they
tell him of Grant's intemperance, I wish I knew what
brand of whiskey he drinks. I would send a beryl
to all my other generals. Sherman felt the power near
at hand as he fought under Grant, and wrote to
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him that it was something which he could liken to
nothing else than the faith a Christian has in his Savior.
Through this faith, then the obscure man from Galena began
in April eighteen six, and by April eighteen sixty four
was the will power of his country. But why was
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such a man still obscure at the age of thirty nine? Again,
his own words give the fundamental explanation. As I grow older,
I become more indolent, my besetting sin through life. This
was written in eighteen seventy three to his minister to England,
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and no truer word ever came from him. Together with
the remark about taking Richmond, it reveals the foundation upon
which the whole man was built. Great will and great
indolence met about equally in grant. Therefore he stood still,
needing a push from without to move him. The gun
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that fired on Sumter was the push. Until that day.
He resembled a large animal, hibernating to what he did,
and left undone. His other qualities contributed, But these two
controll'd indolence and will. In their light, his story can
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be plainly read. His portrait clearly seen end of author's
preface and Chapters one and two