← Scripts

One Last Ride

An Evening with General Grant By Ken Bradbury

(A chair, a table littered with papers and pieces of harness tack….Grant enters, looks around the area, then. . )

It’s been a long time. . . long time. Glad you could join me and I hope my memory serves as a decent enough guide tonight. (looks around) Such a long, long time. Seems like it took forever to get back. Hardscrabble. (laughs) Well named, my old friend. So why’d I return? To gather a few things together. . . scraps of a life, you might say. . . things I’d left behind. (picking up a clipping from the table) An interview with my wife. . .Hamlin Garland’s idea. “I was married to Ulysses S. Grant on the 22nd of August, 1848. The place of the wedding was on the corner of 4th and Cerre Streets, St. Louis. . . .our friends were among the elite of the city. . . and everybody came who had an invitation. I say this to let you know that the wedding was not the wedding of a poor family. It was modest, but everything was nice.” Not a bad epitaph for a life. . . It was modest, but everything was nice. Epitaphs? Not the happiest of subjects. (tosses the clipping aside, sees a piece of harness, picks it up) I think I’d rather talk about horses. (to an audience member) You interested in horses? Well, you should be. They’re a likeable sort. Some said I liked horses better than people. They might be right. My mother always worried when as a toddler I’d crawl among the horses’ hooves. She said, “Horses understand Ulysses.” My wife accused me of not being able to remember the days my children were born, but I could tell you what horse I was riding that day. You can know a horse. . .and once you know him he stays that way . . . a horse. When I was at West Point General Longstreet said, “He was the most proficient in the academy. In fact, rider and horse held together like the fabled centaur.” The General was given to exaggeration, but I was good. And I favored horses that nobody else could ride. . .could manage. Make ‘em fiery, I said. No use for a tame nag. Isn’t it. . . remarkable? (picks up a piece of harness) This is from York. . . my horse at West Point. We won top prize. My father tells this tale better than I but I can recall my first attempt at horse business. I was just a lad, but father sent me to purchase a colt. He said, “Offer him fifteen, and let him bargain you up if you must, but don’t go over this twenty-five I’m giving you.” I buttoned the money into my breast pocket and took off for Maysville. The owner was a rough, coarse-tongued man. I looked up at him and said, “And so I’m supposed to bargain with you for this here colt up to but not over the twenty-five I have in my pocket!” Guess how much I paid. Two years later the colt went blind and father sold him. I was glad to be rid of the reminder. My son, Frederick gave an interview. . (reading from a clipping). . “My father was the best horseman in the Army, he rode splendidly and always on magnificent and fiery horses when possible to obtain one. He preferred to ride the most unmanageable mount, the largest and the most powerful one. Oftentimes I saw him ride a beast that none had approached.” You can always count on flattery from your own son. (picking up another clipping) And this reporter interviewed my father, Jesse Grant. “Perhaps it was my son’s taste for horses. . . that prevented his ever becoming addicted . . .to other amusements. I do now know that he never cared for any others at all except playing marbles. . . I believe he never danced ‘til he went to West Point.” According to Father, horses kept me from a life of sin. . .including dancing. Then he goes on to say that when I was five I’d ride the horses to water instead of driving them. . . and I’d stand on top of their backs. . .. then when I was eight I’d stand atop them and ran them at top speed, (reading) . . . “standing upon one foot and balancing himself by the bridle reins.” It’s a wonder I lived to be with you here tonight. (picking up a bridle) This belonged to Indomitable. . .the finest horse in Father’s stables. I once swam him across a stream to visit Julia. Curious, you might say? . . . that after a lifetime of war and politics I’d rather talk about horses? If you think that’s being eccentric then you haven’t known the men I have. . . and the horses. It’s almost comical . . . I think of the men I’ve known who had horses of better character than themselves. . . President Andrew Johnson, chief among the scallywags. . . My secretary of War, Belknap. . . my Interior Secretary Delano. . . I collected quite a stable of unruly steeds during my years in the White House. If they were horses we’d call them “hard in the mouth.” You see, what you want is a horse with a soft mouth. . . one that’ll respond to the gentlest nudging. It’s all in the upbringing, of course. You try to control a horse with just your hands. . . pulling, jerking on the bit all day long and he’ll get a hard mouth. And of course it’s not a condition of the mouth at all, but the mind. I trained my horses to be soft in the mouth. . . no beating, no jerking, a simple understanding between man and beast. . . and I always treated men the same way. I liked to get things done quickly and quietly. . . that was all. I disdained the military parade or long speeches on the history of warfare . . . just get it done and done quickly. I lived in world of hard-mouthed men. Keep a soft mouth. You can quote me. My first horse. . the first one I bought for riding, up in Galena. . . I’m not sure I even named him. You gotta get to know a horse before you name him. I bought him when the war broke out. Strong…my, but he was a sturdy animal. . . but totally unsuited for military service. Of course, so I was I, but the horse didn’t know that. If you ever wanted to fight an army on your own, he’d do nicely, but being stabled with others. . . well, horses are a lot like an army. . . it takes more than strength. Once I was put in charge of the Union Army I was accused of bullying may way through battles. General Lee said I simply overwhelmed with numbers. . . but the good General was only half right. Numbers. . . . yes. But strategy. . . .it’s the key to winning. It’s the key to most things, I suppose. That horse from Galena. . . he had no strategy. And like the commanders who served before me, that’s why he got replaced. I was moving my troops from Springfield, Illinois, to Missouri and we were camped out in Pike County along the Illinois River. A farmer showed up at my camp one night and presented me with Jack. . . one honorable horse. Cream-colored, black eyes, white mane and tail. . high spirited. A noble animal in every way. I used him ‘til after the Battle of Chattanooga. So many good folks you meet along the way. . . even along the way to war. . . and sometimes the best thing they can leave with you is simply a good horse. (holding a piece of tack) This was Jack’s. Jack’s tack. When I moved to St. Louis I mostly drove teams. My best was Bill and Tom. Good riding horses, well…that was for men of means and Julia and I….not much means. Any of you driven a team? You can learn a lot by driving a pair of horses. There’s an old prayer my mother taught me. . .she called it the Driving Horse’s Prayer. “Uphill, go easy. Downhill, light and breezy. On the level, watch me trot, and in the barn, forget me not.” I’m not sure where she found that in the scriptures, but I pretty much believed it. It’s a funny thing. . . you’ll see a team of horses that won’t behave. . .they act up, won’t take commands, won’t back up. . . then another fella grabs the reins and everything changes. It’s all in how you handle them. I used to tell Julia . . .sometimes in the presence of others. . . that she and I were the perfect team. . . always in step with one another, always making up for what the other lacked. . . . “Uphill, go easy. Downhill, light and breezy.” I can’t say that my dear wife was particularly fond of the comparison to a good work horse . . . . but I think she understood. She told a reporter, “The General had no idea of the government of children. He would have allowed them to do pretty much as they pleased.” But my word was always law and she knew it. Ah, Julia. Was ever a man so fortunate as to have a wife such as her? She was 22 when I married her. Her brother, Fred Dent, was a friend of mine at West Point and he told her that I was the finest boy he’d ever known. He said, “He is pure gold.” Well, that gave me a great deal to live up to when I met her at her father’s farm in St. Louis. Pure gold. (opening his arms wide) Takes some imagination. She said she dreamed of me. I had to propose didn’t I? In fact, I proposed four times and on round four she accepted. Neither of our fathers approved. My military prospects looked dim and her father owned slaves. My parents refused to attend the wedding. But we were. . . a team. We pulled together. I’d bring her near the front to be with me on every occasion I got. She was my . . . she was my comfort. She was my anchor. I never let anybody drive Bill and Tom. . . nobody but me. A good team has but one master. Julia and I . . . well, there was no one else for either of us.

Let me give you a little education. . . You put your strongest horse on the right. . she’s the one that’s got to walk in the furrow. . . she’s the one who takes the lead when you change directions. . . .she’s your anchor. And a good team is always in perfect step. . . stride for stride. Julia. . . and me. She’d come visit me at the front and first thing she’d want to run out and give comfort to the sick and wounded soldiers. I’d say, “Julia, sit a minute. . . please. Talk to me about home.” She was more than a comfort. She was a necessity. I wrote her over three hundred letters and she kept them all. Even the newspapers called our two-horse hitch “One of America’s great romances.” I want you to hear something. Forgive me if it sounds immodest, but it speaks of our affection. (finding a clipping) This is Julia speaking of the other horse in her team. . . “He was always the same, whether he was a humble Lieutenant or the President of the United States. He had very simple needs and wants. He never was a great eater, he was not fussy, though he expected people to be prompt. . . he was a gentle and affectionate father and so deeply generous to me and my faults.” Faults? Hardly. “Uphill, go easy. Downhill, light and breezy. On the level, watch me trot, and in the barn, forget me not.” (he puts down the paper and the piece of harness)

I ramble on, don’t I? I doubt you came here this evening to hear horse tales. . . Let me tell you about my family. Four children. . . And my firstborn, Frederick. I bought him a pony. (smiles) Forgive me. I fear I’m incurable. . .I bought him a pony and another horse for myself. At the Battle of Belmont my horse was shot out from under me and so I took Frederick’s pony. Some said that a commanding general ought to be riding something nobler, so I gave the pony to my aide-de-camp and I took the captain’s horse. The pony died in battle, too. It’s a wonder horses didn’t avoid me. When I reentered the Army in ’61 they gave me a new horse. I mean new to me. I never knew his age, but to help you understand, his name was Methuselah. Then there was the first horse I rode into battle. (picking up a piece of tack) This belonged to Rondy. You remember your battle horses. Some say that over a million horses died in the war. . . over a million. It’s hard to fathom such a thing. And when they died we usually burned them. It takes a lot of valuable time to bury a horse. But there are those who claim to know who say that a horse cannot possess courage. . . . that he simply operates out of fear of his master. And to those poor fools I would say, “Rubbage!” A horse can possess courage and anyone who says otherwise has simply never ridden astride of a noble animal in battle. I was overly praised for my courage one night during the Mexican war in my ride to the camp of General Taylor. I rode two and half miles through a hailstorm of bullets from enemy rifles, but the hero of the day was Nellie. . . . my race horse. Her courage far out-shone mine on that fearsome night. (looking around the are) Sadly, I have nothing to remind me of Nellie…(touches his chest) . . .but this. I’m here. I’m alive. And that’s due to Nellie. I have chosen my words carefully in commenting on the various commanders with whom I’ve served in our nation’s defense, but if you’d care to chat with me afterwards I could give you long list of generals whose courage never matched that of their horses.

Battle horses . . (smiles as he picks up a piece of harness) “Fox,” a roan. Powerful…lots of spirit. Rode him during the siege of Fort Donelson and Shiloh. Shiloh. . . . Funny thing. The Confederates had left one ugly horse on the field. . .looked like it was good for nothing. The soldiers called him “Kangaroo” because of the way he was shaped. They sent him to Colonel Lagow as a joke. Now you must understand that Colonel Lagow was a man of means. He was born elegant and tried his best to stay that way. He only rode the finest horses and the man was completely flummoxed when faced with the sight of this broken down horse. I looked at the horse and said, “Colonel, that animal is a thoroughbred! He’s a valuable horse! And if you don’t wish to keep him then I would!” Well, the Colonel was more than happy to have the horse off his hands, so Kangaroo and I went to work. . . feeding, grooming. . . he became a magnificent animal. I rode him all through the Vicksburg campaign. You see why I favor horses? Just a little attention. . . some concern. . . and then they stay that way. . . . they stay that way. A horse has a sense of duty and cares little for appearances. I admire that. . .I admire that greatly. I liked the Southern horses. When the war started, the Confederate cavalry was superior to that of the North. Couple of reasons, I suppose. The roads in the South were rough and there was a whole generation of southern boys who’d been raised on horseback. Lots of northern boys were raised riding in buggies or maybe the only horse they knew was the one that pulled their daddy’s plow. If your only acquaintance with a horse is taking him to the barn and grooming him ‘til supper, then you’ll not be as likely to take him to the war with you. You sign up for the infantry. And horse racing was more the rage in the South, producing strains of fast horses. Truth is, some of the finest horses in the Union Army were stolen from the Southern plantations. The perfect Army horse? Fifteen to sixteen hands high, between five and seven years old, standing erect on all four feet and strongly built…not too long. . with an easy gait and not too skittish. I wish we’d put similar requirements on the generals. Why does General McClernand come to mind? A lawyer by training, a politician by profession and a soldier by some . . . divine fluke of Providence. It’s hard to take Vicksburg when your eyes are on the White House. (a long beat, then) Well. . . it is history now. That’s why I’d rather talk about horses. But McClernand had one saving grace….his name was Zenith, a magnificent stallion that won top honors at the Illinois State Fair. Zenith lived out a glorious life at stud. McClernand fared less well. . . he returned to politics. I’ll tell you about one more. Jeff Davis! The horse, not the Confederate president. In fact, he was a Confederate pony. We captured him from the very plantation of Joe Davis, the brother of Jeff. A little black pony so worn out he could hardly walk. They brought him to me, knowing I had a fondness for horses, and I nursed him a bit and gave him to my son. Then came the carbuncles. (looking over the crowd) I see we have in our number this evening a goodly number of the fairer sex, so I will forego any lengthy description of either the dreaded carbuncles or where they are located after you’ve spent a lifetime in the saddle. I’ll leave it to simply say they were a greater irritation than General McClernand. I was riding a restless horse at that time and my carbuncles didn’t agree with his spirited gait, so I borrowed my son’s pony, Jeff Davis. And that pony. . . that dear little pony had the sweetest rolling gait of any animal I’d ever ridden! It was quite remarkable. Frederick was no doubt weary of his father taking back every pony he’d ever given him, but I couldn’t help myself. I had Jeff Davis ‘til long after the war had ended.

(to an audience member) Had you fill of horses now? Perhaps I should move on. .. (X’s away, the stops) No. .. not until I tell you about the greatest horse I’ve ever known. I must tell you about Cincinnati. Cincinnati! Oh, what a marvelous animal! Nearly equal to the speed of his half-brother, “Kentucky,” the fastest four-mile thoroughbred in in the United States. Seventeen hands high. He came from right here in St. Louis. An elderly man named S. S. Grant was about to die and he asked that I come to his hotel room. Well, since he had the same name as my brother my curiosity was aroused and I went. Didn’t know the fellow. He said, “General, I’ll never be able to ride again so I want you to have Cincinnati! You must promise that you’ll never mistreat him!” A wondrous animal . . . and I accepted the dying man’s gift. I rode Cincinnati ‘til the end of the war. Somebody once offered me $10,000 in gold for that horse I wouldn’t take it. I only let two other men ride him and one of them was named Abraham Lincoln. I must read you something. . . if I can find it. . . . (rummages through a few papers, then) . . . Ah. . . here. Horace Porter gave this account . . June of ’64. . .when Mr. Lincoln rode my Cincinnati to visit Meade’s troops. I was on Jeff Davis. “Mr. Lincoln wore a very high black silk hat and black trousers and frock coat. . . . he had a good command of a horse, but it must be acknowledged that in appearance he was not a very dashing rider. By the time he had reached the troops, he was completely covered in dust and the black color of his clothes had changed to Confederate gray. As he had no straps, his trousers gradually worked up above his ankles, and gave him the appearance of a country famer riding into town wearing his Sunday clothes.” (a beat, then) I remember the night we first met. The President and Mrs. Lincoln were hosting a reception in the Blue Room of the White House and at about half past nine o’clock I wandered in the doorway, just arrived from the West. We’d never met, but we recognized each other from our pictures. He was eight inches taller than I so of course I craned a bit to look up at him. He introduced me to Secretary Seward, then Mrs. Lincoln and then. . . well . . . a strange thing. People started shouting, “Grant! Grant! Grant!” Seward grabbed me and bade me stand upon Mrs. Lincoln’s new sofa, hoping that would quell the crowd to see me but to no avail. It was fully an hour before they could rescue me from the throngs. I had . . . well, it was a greeting I had not expected. Lincoln loved that good horse Cincinnati. I do not exaggerate. He had a genuine affection for the animal. We spent much time together in the last two weeks of his life and Lincoln would always ask to ride him. I cannot . . . I cannot think of one without remembering the other. And it was Cincinnati that I rode to that courthouse at Appomattox to give the terms to General Lee. My uniform that day was . . . how to I say? . . . less than “regal.” I wanted my horse to make up for what I seemed lacking. And when I ended up in the White House myself I took only two horses. . . Cincinnati was one of them.

To be completely honest with you, there were times in my life when I could not afford the horses I wanted. I regretted that. It seems I could go days without food or sleep on the battlefield, but as long as I had a good horse. . . well . . . I was well satisfied. So having spent much of my life in poverty it was indeed a blessing to receive various fine steeds as gifts during the war and afterwards. And one of those gifts. . . one I shall never forget. . . came from Southern Illinois, an area called “Little Egypt.” It was the last month of 1863 and I was in Chattanooga when a man named Orval Pool of Shawneetown spearheaded a movement of merchants to send me this thoroughbred we called “Egypt.” The gift could not have come at a better time. I was ready to retire “Jack” and was riding a borrowed horse called “Waif.” Egypt! Sixteen hands high, a dark bay with two white hind fetlocks. I was tempted to send him home to Julia to keep him safe, but the war would not allow such luxuries. He was the stable mate of Cincinnati and in some respects an even more beautiful horse. On fancy state occasions I often opted for Cincinnati since Egypt had inherited my dislike for music. When the band would strike up the stallion would get skittish and although it was often my desire to run away with him, my presence was required until the music stopped. About this time a new gift horse arrived . . . “Hipa-drome.”. . . a large, spotted horse. . . drove beautifully and again I wanted to send him home to Julia. I’d always wanted to find her a horse big enough to pull a carriage for four passengers. It was a consternation. . . to receive fine horses while at the front and fearing for the lives of such magnificent animals.

Horses. . . how can you not love a horse? (picking up a piece of rein) Some people collect letters and pictures. I keep pieces of harness. This belonged to Cincinnati. I’ve kept it. . . I’m keeping it. I hope you’ll indulge and old man’s fancy. I’ve not always been well treated by those in politics. That’s why I keep this old piece of leather. A horse can be trusted. A horse knows duty. (picking up the previous clipping) “It was modest, but everything was nice.” I took her on steamboat trip up the Mississippi for our honeymoon. She’d never been away from home so it was an adventure for her. That made me happy. On my lieutenant’s pay of $100 a month that was all we could afford. I miss those days. Things were simple . . . simpler, anyway. One of the great advantages of being somewhat well known for things like commanding the Union Army and becoming President of the United States is that you never have to wonder what people think of you. All you have to do is pick up a newspaper. This small collection here contains none of the venomous attacks. I tried not to read those. And they hardly ever mention my horses. The positive newspaper reports…. as you can see, it’s a very small collection. (picks up another clipping) They interviewed my aide, Ely Parker. . (reading) “After the Battle of the Wilderness, I saw a correspondent of one of the leading anti-Grant newspapers introduced to the General. Grant smiled in a friendly way and took his hand and said, ‘Your paper has never said a good word for me in my whole life . . ‘” . . and they hadn’t. . “’But that shall make no difference in our relations with one another.’” I made the reporter a guest in my headquarters. That’s the way I’d prefer to win a war. A long chat and a good cigar. (looks at another clipping and laughs) Ha. I’d forgotten about this one. “At City Point, while he was sitting in his tent, 200 pounds of powder exploded; men, mules and bodies were blown into the air, and everyone else was panic stricken. Grant sat imperturbable. He did not move from his seat or raise his hand, and only said, in his usual tone, “Babcock, go out and see what is the matter.” Well, it’s the truth. I wanted to know. I was fearful for the horses.

I had intended to come here this evening to talk about a life. . . mine. That was our intention, I think. But a man’s life can be summed up quickly enough. . . if you leave out the horses. You want the cold facts? Let’s see. . . how I can put it simply? Born. . . 1822, Point Pleasant, Ohio. Not much to be said about that. I guess we all pretty much enter the world in the same way, or at least going in the same direction. Religion. . .born Methodist but never remained much of one. Education . . . U.S. Military Academy at West Point, New York. Ranked 21 out of 29. Four interminable years. They mistakenly registered me as Ulysses S. instead of Hiram Ulysses, and I allowed as how the new name suited me well enough. My father was a tanner and I swore to him that when I turned 21 I’d be out of that stinking business in minute. I hated tanning and I loved horses. . . had I mentioned that? He felt I was good for little else so he sent me to West Point. His name was Jesse Root Grant. My Mother, Hannah Simpson Grant was a quiet woman. “Distant,” some said. I suppose I would say so as well. She never came to visit us in the White House and seldom spoke of me to others. 1843 . . . I graduated from West Point and was commissioned a brevet second lieutenant and assigned to the Fourth Infantry in St. Louis, Jefferson Barracks. And it was here in St. Louis that I met the most gracious woman in creation. I wooed her largely through the U.S. Mail since I took off for the Mexican war in ’46 as a Quartermaster. Following our honeymoon I was assigned to New York, then Michigan, then to California for two lonely years without my dear Julia. Those were painful years. I returned to St. Louis and resigned my commission. . .worked a 80-acre farm right here where we sit, lost money selling cordwood, failed selling Real Estate, and in large part lived up to all the low expectations of my father-in-law, Colonel Dent. . . a hot-tempered, swearing old Southerner. And that’s where we come to dear old Hardscrabble. I had every intention of being known as well-to-do old Missouri farmer. So I looked around for a place to build a house. . found a spot on a small elevation close to my crops and started cutting logs for a cabin . . . bought a team of horses. Julia wanted a neat frame house, but I . . . I built Hardscrabble. Did most of it myself. . . four rooms, two upstairs and two down. . . and Julia. . .bless the woman. . .Julia did her best to decorate it into a home. . . but after looking at what I’d accomplished. . . .well, that’s when we gave it the name Hardscrabble. Only lived there for three months, moving back to White Haven after Julia’s mother died in ’57. Then to Galena as a clerk in my father’s store. Our stay in Galena can be well summarized by the location of our house. It faced a cemetery. June 17th, 1861 . . . appointed a colonel of the 21st Illinois Infantry. And then the war . . . you’ve probably heard about the war. Now there were various horses spread all throughout that narrative but I gave you a rest.

(a long beat as he looks at the audience) Thank you. Thank you for being indulgent . . . listening to an old man retrace his history. You will no doubt go home tonight to your friends. . . your family. . and say, “I have spent an evening in the presence of Ulysses Grant.” And they will no doubt say, “The General? The President? Tell us! What did he speak of? Leading the Union Army to its greatest victories? Serving as President of the greatest nation on Earth?” And if you are quite truthful, you will smile and say, “No. He talked about his horses.” And then. . . after they have stared a bit. . . and perhaps even chuckled, I would hope you would add. . . “But it was time well spent.” Feel free to be honest. I have no desire to be. . . edited….prettified. I did speak about horses. But I hope you know that in that there was more to be found. I . . . I have always found it uncomfortable speaking of myself. I know . . . this sounds out of place from a man who wrote his own biography, but even that lengthy tome was but an attempt to . . . well, to explain it all. . . to perhaps shine some light on path for those who’d come after me. Were you to pin me against the wall and demand certain bits of information. . . . and were I without a horse to make a proper escape. . . I’d say that the most meaningful things of my life had little to do with war. It’s curious. History chooses how we will be remembered, even if that estimation is at odds with our own memory. If I were simply state what I did that was of importance. . . well. . . (picks up a clipping) Here. In the 1870’s I traveled around the world. . met some truly remarkable people. . . Czar Alexander. . .the Emperor of Japan. . .Queen Victoria, Bismarck of Germany, King Leopold of Belgium…the crowned heads of Austria, Greece, Spain and Brazil. But on my visit to England Lord Provost introduced me to a crowd of 50 thousand people. He said this. . (reading) “Grant had proved himself the Wellington of America. . . the great and good Lincoln, struck down the poisonous tree of slavery; but Grant tore it up by the roots, so that it should never live in his country to suck nutriment from it soil.” I like that. I must tell you that I like that very much. The 15th Amendment to the Constitution. . “The right of citizens of the Untied States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States of any state on account of race, color or previous condition of servitude.” I . . . I am still moved when I recite those words. Sometimes we get things right. History. . . the real history. . . is not about great men. Real history is about ordinary men in real times and greatness was simply required of them. Perhaps that’s why Lincoln and I found such affinity. . . both born of humble means. . .both struggled with our education. . . devoted to our families but distant with our own fathers. . . neither of our mother’s attended our inaugurations. . but more than all else, we possessed a sense of duty, a dedication to what we knew to be right. . . to be good. “It was modest,” said my dear Julia, “but everything was nice.” May I read one more thing?. . .this time from Lincoln himself . . . (he picks up a clipping) It’s dated 1864 and someone had asked the President about this fellow Grant. "He's the quietest little fellow you ever saw. He makes the least fuss of any man you ever knew. I believe he had been in this room a minute or so before I knew he was here. Grant is the first general I have had. You know how it's been with all the rest. As soon as I put a man in command of the army, they all wanted me to be the general. Now it isn't so with Grant. He hasn't told me what his plans are. I don't know and I don't want to know. I am glad to find a man who can go ahead without me. He doesn't ask impossibilities of me, and he's the first general I've had that didn't." I have had a lifetime of great opportunities. . . I have been able to see and experience the wonders that the world has to offer, but nothing. . . nothing compares to the honor of serving such a man as Lincoln. So . . . Our evening draws to a close. I hope you’ve gained. . .what? . . . an understanding . . . not just of the speaker, but of how he got to be who he got to be. One final horse story. . . At the beginning of the War we had the luxury of training horses for battle. As the conflict progressed we simply picked them up wherever we could. But in the beginning. . .in theory. . .the horses went through a rigorous training period. At the conclusion of the training the horses had to pass a final test. On a signal the riders got off their mounts and directed their horses to lie down. Machine gunners at the end of the field would open fire, spraying bullets over the men and the animals, all hugging tightly to the ground. The horses that panicked and jumped up were killed and thus released from duty. This was a tragic event for the young rider who’d spent weeks with his animal companion, but it was necessary. The enemy will shoot first at the horses hauling the large guns. Killing their munitions horses can stop an army. Ream’s Station, August of 1864. . . The Tenth Massachusetts Battery was fighting from behind a barricade with the horses fully exposed. They had six large guns and five of them immediately came under fire. In the blink of an eye only two of the thirty-two horses were still standing and both of those brave animals bore wounds. One horse was shot seven times before it went down, and then struggled back up only to be hit again. Each horse had suffered an average of five wounds. The Battery was overrun. It is not some mere sentimentality that causes me to hold these animals in such high regard. In a perhaps mysterious way they remind me. . . they remind us . . . of our own mortality. . . or own responsibility….our own ability to find compassion in a world that often seems lacking. But more than anything else. . . duty. Now’s there’s a fitting epitaph if a man must have one. Duty. Our European ancestors were called to serve because of their rights of birth, their family lineage. But this historical experiment called “United States” requires ordinary men to answer a higher calling. . . and we call that “Duty.” Much of my life has been spent around men of less than noble character. My faults are numerous and chief among those has been my lack of judgment in knowing who can be trusted. Please forgive an old man who spends too much time talking about horses. I have yet to meet a horse who has been anything but since with me and that has been my joy. Be kind when you relate the events of our evening spent together. When they ask about the General say. . . . well…say, “He knew his horses. . .and he knew his duty.” Good evening. (he gives a small salute and exits)