CHAPTER II.

WEST POINT--GRADUATION.

In the winter of 1838-9 I was attending school at Ripley, only ten miles

distant from Georgetown, but spent the Christmas holidays at home.

During this vacation my father received a letter from the Honorable

Thomas Morris, then United States Senator from Ohio. When he read it he

said to me, "Ulysses, I believe you are going to receive the

appointment." "What appointment?" I inquired. "To West Point; I have

applied for it." "But I won't go," I said. He said he thought I would,

AND I THOUGHT SO TOO, IF HE DID. I really had no objection to going to

West Point, except that I had a very exalted idea of the acquirements

necessary to get through. I did not believe I possessed them, and could

not bear the idea of failing. There had been four boys from our

village, or its immediate neighborhood, who had been graduated from West

Point, and never a failure of any one appointed from Georgetown, except

in the case of the one whose place I was to take. He was the son of Dr.

Bailey, our nearest and most intimate neighbor. Young Bailey had been

appointed in 1837. Finding before the January examination following,

that he could not pass, he resigned and went to a private school, and

remained there until the following year, when he was reappointed.

Before the next examination he was dismissed. Dr. Bailey was a proud

and sensitive man, and felt the failure of his son so keenly that he

forbade his return home. There were no telegraphs in those days to

disseminate news rapidly, no railroads west of the Alleghanies, and but

few east; and above all, there were no reporters prying into other

people's private affairs. Consequently it did not become generally

known that there was a vacancy at West Point from our district until I

was appointed. I presume Mrs. Bailey confided to my mother the fact

that Bartlett had been dismissed, and that the doctor had forbidden his

son's return home.

The Honorable Thomas L. Hamer, one of the ablest men Ohio ever produced,

was our member of Congress at the time, and had the right of nomination.

He and my father had been members of the same debating society (where

they were generally pitted on opposite sides), and intimate personal

friends from their early manhood up to a few years before. In politics

they differed. Hamer was a life-long Democrat, while my father was a

Whig. They had a warm discussion, which finally became angry--over some

act of President Jackson, the removal of the deposit of public moneys, I

think--after which they never spoke until after my appointment. I know

both of them felt badly over this estrangement, and would have been glad

at any time to come to a reconciliation; but neither would make the

advance. Under these circumstances my father would not write to Hamer

for the appointment, but he wrote to Thomas Morris, United States

Senator from Ohio, informing him that there was a vacancy at West Point

from our district, and that he would be glad if I could be appointed to

fill it. This letter, I presume, was turned over to Mr. Hamer, and, as

there was no other applicant, he cheerfully appointed me. This healed

the breach between the two, never after reopened.

Besides the argument used by my father in favor of my going to West

Point--that "he thought I would go"--there was another very strong

inducement. I had always a great desire to travel. I was already the

best travelled boy in Georgetown, except the sons of one man, John

Walker, who had emigrated to Texas with his family, and immigrated back

as soon as he could get the means to do so. In his short stay in Texas

he acquired a very different opinion of the country from what one would

form going there now.

I had been east to Wheeling, Virginia, and north to the Western Reserve,

in Ohio, west to Louisville, and south to Bourbon County, Kentucky,

besides having driven or ridden pretty much over the whole country

within fifty miles of home. Going to West Point would give me the

opportunity of visiting the two great cities of the continent,

Philadelphia and New York. This was enough. When these places were

visited I would have been glad to have had a steamboat or railroad

collision, or any other accident happen, by which I might have received

a temporary injury sufficient to make me ineligible, for a time, to

enter the Academy. Nothing of the kind occurred, and I had to face the

music.

Georgetown has a remarkable record for a western village. It is, and

has been from its earliest existence, a democratic town. There was

probably no time during the rebellion when, if the opportunity could

have been afforded, it would not have voted for Jefferson Davis for

President of the United States, over Mr. Lincoln, or any other

representative of his party; unless it was immediately after some of

John Morgan's men, in his celebrated raid through Ohio, spent a few

hours in the village. The rebels helped themselves to whatever they

could find, horses, boots and shoes, especially horses, and many ordered

meals to be prepared for them by the families. This was no doubt a far

pleasanter duty for some families than it would have been to render a

like service for Union soldiers. The line between the Rebel and Union

element in Georgetown was so marked that it led to divisions even in the

churches. There were churches in that part of Ohio where treason was

preached regularly, and where, to secure membership, hostility to the

government, to the war and to the liberation of the slaves, was far more

essential than a belief in the authenticity or credibility of the Bible.

There were men in Georgetown who filled all the requirements for

membership in these churches.

Yet this far-off western village, with a population, including old and

young, male and female, of about one thousand--about enough for the

organization of a single regiment if all had been men capable of bearing

arms--furnished the Union army four general officers and one colonel,

West Point graduates, and nine generals and field officers of

Volunteers, that I can think of. Of the graduates from West Point, all

had citizenship elsewhere at the breaking out of the rebellion, except

possibly General A. V. Kautz, who had remained in the army from his

graduation. Two of the colonels also entered the service from other

localities. The other seven, General McGroierty, Colonels White, Fyffe,

Loudon and Marshall, Majors King and Bailey, were all residents of

Georgetown when the war broke out, and all of them, who were alive at

the close, returned there. Major Bailey was the cadet who had preceded

me at West Point. He was killed in West Virginia, in his first

engagement. As far as I know, every boy who has entered West Point from

that village since my time has been graduated.

I took passage on a steamer at Ripley, Ohio, for Pittsburg, about the

middle of May, 1839. Western boats at that day did not make regular

trips at stated times, but would stop anywhere, and for any length of

time, for passengers or freight. I have myself been detained two or

three days at a place after steam was up, the gang planks, all but one,

drawn in, and after the time advertised for starting had expired. On

this occasion we had no vexatious delays, and in about three days

Pittsburg was reached. From Pittsburg I chose passage by the canal to

Harrisburg, rather than by the more expeditious stage. This gave a

better opportunity of enjoying the fine scenery of Western Pennsylvania,

and I had rather a dread of reaching my destination at all. At that

time the canal was much patronized by travellers, and, with the

comfortable packets of the period, no mode of conveyance could be more

pleasant, when time was not an object. From Harrisburg to Philadelphia

there was a railroad, the first I had ever seen, except the one on which

I had just crossed the summit of the Alleghany Mountains, and over which

canal boats were transported. In travelling by the road from

Harrisburg, I thought the perfection of rapid transit had been reached.

We travelled at least eighteen miles an hour, when at full speed, and

made the whole distance averaging probably as much as twelve miles an

hour. This seemed like annihilating space. I stopped five days in

Philadelphia, saw about every street in the city, attended the theatre,

visited Girard College (which was then in course of construction), and

got reprimanded from home afterwards, for dallying by the way so long.

My sojourn in New York was shorter, but long enough to enable me to see

the city very well. I reported at West Point on the 30th or 31st of

May, and about two weeks later passed my examination for admission,

without difficulty, very much to my surprise.

A military life had no charms for me, and I had not the faintest idea of

staying in the army even if I should be graduated, which I did not

expect. The encampment which preceded the commencement of academic

studies was very wearisome and uninteresting. When the 28th of August

came--the date for breaking up camp and going into barracks--I felt as

though I had been at West Point always, and that if I staid to

graduation, I would have to remain always. I did not take hold of my

studies with avidity, in fact I rarely ever read over a lesson the

second time during my entire cadetship. I could not sit in my room

doing nothing. There is a fine library connected with the Academy from

which cadets can get books to read in their quarters. I devoted more

time to these, than to books relating to the course of studies. Much of

the time, I am sorry to say, was devoted to novels, but not those of a

trashy sort. I read all of Bulwer's then published, Cooper's,

Marryat's, Scott's, Washington Irving's works, Lever's, and many others

that I do not now remember. Mathematics was very easy to me, so that

when January came, I passed the examination, taking a good standing in

that branch. In French, the only other study at that time in the first

year's course, my standing was very low. In fact, if the class had been

turned the other end foremost I should have been near head. I never

succeeded in getting squarely at either end of my class, in any one

study, during the four years. I came near it in French, artillery,

infantry and cavalry tactics, and conduct.

Early in the session of the Congress which met in December, 1839, a bill

was discussed abolishing the Military Academy. I saw in this an

honorable way to obtain a discharge, and read the debates with much

interest, but with impatience at the delay in taking action, for I was

selfish enough to favor the bill. It never passed, and a year later,

although the time hung drearily with me, I would have been sorry to have

seen it succeed. My idea then was to get through the course, secure a

detail for a few years as assistant professor of mathematics at the

Academy, and afterwards obtain a permanent position as professor in some

respectable college; but circumstances always did shape my course

different from my plans.

At the end of two years the class received the usual furlough, extending

from the close of the June examination to the 28th of August. This I

enjoyed beyond any other period of my life. My father had sold out his

business in Georgetown--where my youth had been spent, and to which my

day-dreams carried me back as my future home, if I should ever be able

to retire on a competency. He had moved to Bethel, only twelve miles

away, in the adjoining county of Clermont, and had bought a young horse

that had never been in harness, for my special use under the saddle

during my furlough. Most of my time was spent among my old

school-mates--these ten weeks were shorter than one week at West Point.

Persons acquainted with the Academy know that the corps of cadets is

divided into four companies for the purpose of military exercises.

These companies are officered from the cadets, the superintendent and

commandant selecting the officers for their military bearing and

qualifications. The adjutant, quartermaster, four captains and twelve

lieutenants are taken from the first, or Senior class; the sergeants

from the second, or junior class; and the corporals from the third, or

Sophomore class. I had not been "called out" as a corporal, but when I

returned from furlough I found myself the last but one--about my

standing in all the tactics--of eighteen sergeants. The promotion was

too much for me. That year my standing in the class--as shown by the

number of demerits of the year--was about the same as it was among the

sergeants, and I was dropped, and served the fourth year as a private.

During my first year's encampment General Scott visited West Point, and

reviewed the cadets. With his commanding figure, his quite colossal

size and showy uniform, I thought him the finest specimen of manhood my

eyes had ever beheld, and the most to be envied. I could never resemble

him in appearance, but I believe I did have a presentiment for a moment

that some day I should occupy his place on review--although I had no

intention then of remaining in the army. My experience in a horse-trade

ten years before, and the ridicule it caused me, were too fresh in my

mind for me to communicate this presentiment to even my most intimate

chum. The next summer Martin Van Buren, then President of the United

States, visited West Point and reviewed the cadets; he did not impress

me with the awe which Scott had inspired. In fact I regarded General

Scott and Captain C. F. Smith, the Commandant of Cadets, as the two men

most to be envied in the nation. I retained a high regard for both up

to the day of their death.

The last two years wore away more rapidly than the first two, but they

still seemed about five times as long as Ohio years, to me. At last all

the examinations were passed, and the members of the class were called

upon to record their choice of arms of service and regiments. I was

anxious to enter the cavalry, or dragoons as they were then called, but

there was only one regiment of dragoons in the Army at that time, and

attached to that, besides the full complement of officers, there were at

least four brevet second lieutenants. I recorded therefore my first

choice, dragoons; second, 4th infantry; and got the latter. Again there

was a furlough--or, more properly speaking, leave of absence for the

class were now commissioned officers--this time to the end of September.

Again I went to Ohio to spend my vacation among my old school-mates; and

again I found a fine saddle horse purchased for my special use, besides

a horse and buggy that I could drive--but I was not in a physical

condition to enjoy myself quite as well as on the former occasion. For

six months before graduation I had had a desperate cough ("Tyler's grip"

it was called), and I was very much reduced, weighing but one hundred

and seventeen pounds, just my weight at entrance, though I had grown six

inches in stature in the mean time. There was consumption in my

father's family, two of his brothers having died of that disease, which

made my symptoms more alarming. The brother and sister next younger

than myself died, during the rebellion, of the same disease, and I

seemed the most promising subject for it of the three in 1843.

Having made alternate choice of two different arms of service with

different uniforms, I could not get a uniform suit until notified of my

assignment. I left my measurement with a tailor, with directions not to

make the uniform until I notified him whether it was to be for infantry

or dragoons. Notice did not reach me for several weeks, and then it

took at least a week to get the letter of instructions to the tailor and

two more to make the clothes and have them sent to me. This was a time

of great suspense. I was impatient to get on my uniform and see how it

looked, and probably wanted my old school-mates, particularly the girls,

to see me in it.

The conceit was knocked out of me by two little circumstances that

happened soon after the arrival of the clothes, which gave me a distaste

for military uniform that I never recovered from. Soon after the

arrival of the suit I donned it, and put off for Cincinnati on

horseback. While I was riding along a street of that city, imagining

that every one was looking at me, with a feeling akin to mine when I

first saw General Scott, a little urchin, bareheaded, footed, with dirty

and ragged pants held up by bare a single gallows--that's what

suspenders were called then--and a shirt that had not seen a wash-tub

for weeks, turned to me and cried: "Soldier! will you work? No,

sir--ee; I'll sell my shirt first!!" The horse trade and its dire

consequences were recalled to mind.

The other circumstance occurred at home. Opposite our house in Bethel

stood the old stage tavern where "man and beast" found accommodation,

The stable-man was rather dissipated, but possessed of some humor. On

my return I found him parading the streets, and attending in the stable,

barefooted, but in a pair of sky-blue nankeen pantaloons--just the color

of my uniform trousers--with a strip of white cotton sheeting sewed down

the outside seams in imitation of mine. The joke was a huge one in the

mind of many of the people, and was much enjoyed by them; but I did not

appreciate it so highly.

During the remainder of my leave of absence, my time was spent in

visiting friends in Georgetown and Cincinnati, and occasionally other

towns in that part of the State.