by H. W. Brands
He was better than his word, taking to the stump on behalf of Garfield as he had never done for himself. He presented himself as the antithesis of the politician. “I have never made a Republican speech in my life, or any kind of a political speech,” he told an audience in Galena. “I am sure it would require some time and much preparation to make one of any length.… I never voted a Republican presidential ticket in my life, and but one Democratic ticket, and that was many years ago when I was quite a young man.” But he was certainly going to vote this time. “Although I shall be some distance from you in November next, I shall return to Galena to cast a Republican vote for president of the United States. And I hope that the city of Galena will cast a Republican vote such as it never cast before.”
He caught a touch more of the campaign fever as the weeks passed. “I am a Republican, as the two great political parties are now divided, because the Republican party is a national party seeking the greatest good for the greatest number of citizens,” he told a rally in Ohio. “There is not a precinct in this vast nation where a Democrat cannot cast his ballot and have it counted as cast. No matter what the prominence of the opposite party, he can proclaim his political opinions, even if he is only one among a thousand, without fear and without proscription on account of his opinions.” Sadly, such tolerance was not bipartisan. “There are fourteen states and localities in some other states where Republicans have not this privilege.” He was a Republican for other reasons as well. “The Republican party is a party of progress and of liberality toward its opponents. It encourages the poor to strive to better their condition, the ignorant to educate their children, to enable them to compete successfully with their more fortunate associates, and, in fine, it secures an entire equality before the law of every citizen, no matter what his race, nationality, or previous condition. It tolerates no privileged class. Everyone has the opportunity to make himself all he is capable of.”
In public he hewed to his decision to say nothing against Hancock. In private, reportedly, he asserted that the Democratic nominee lacked the character to be an effective president. “He is vain, selfish, weak, and easily flattered,” he told two Methodist ministers who visited him in Galena, according to the instantly published recollection of one of them. “He is crazy to be president. The South will easily control him.”
Grant denied using the language attributed to him. He allowed himself to be quoted as saying, “Hancock is a man who likes to hear himself praised,” but against this he balanced a commendation of Hancock’s courage and forthright character. Yet he never backed down from his assertion that the election of a Democrat would be a heavy blow to democracy and equality in America.
He spoke in the Midwest, the mid-Atlantic and New England. In New Jersey he praised the carpetbagger, the Reconstruction-era Yankee gone South who was the bête noire of Southern Democrats, as the quintessential American. Americans had long picked up and followed opportunity, he said. The West, the most dynamic region of the country, was filled with carpetbaggers. “Out there they are all carpetbaggers.” He himself was a carpetbagger, having moved to Illinois in search of economic opportunity. “All we ask is that our carpetbag fellow citizens, and our fellow citizens of African descent, and of every other class who may choose to be Republicans, shall have the privilege to go to the polls, even though they are in the minority, and put in their ballot without being burned out of their homes and without being threatened or intimidated.”
He concluded his campaign at the end of October in New York with another call for everyone’s vote to be counted and a prediction as to what the counting would reveal. “Every Northern state, with the possible exception of two—California and Nevada—will give a Republican majority.” The South would be solid for the Democrats. “I want you all to remember my prediction on next Tuesday,” he told his audience with a smile. “If it appears that I am right, talk about it as much as you please. If you find that I am wrong, then treat the prediction as private and confidential.”
They soon talked about it a lot. Grant erred only on New Jersey, which Hancock carried by a whisker. The Democratic ticket won the former slave states plus California and Nevada—and New Jersey—while Garfield and the Republicans swept the North minus those three. The totals gave the victory to Garfield by an electoral vote of 214 to 155.
“I heartily congratulate you and especially the country,” Grant wrote the president-elect. “I feel as sure that the nation has escaped a calamity as one can feel about untried things.” Rumors were alleging that Grant sought a cabinet post in exchange for his support of the ticket. “I want to put your mind entirely at ease on this subject,” he told Garfield. “As an American citizen I felt as much interest in the result of the election as you or anyone else could.” It was for this reason that he had worked hard for the victory. But he wanted nothing in return save the satisfaction of keeping the Democrats at bay another four years. “There is no position within the gift of the President which I would accept. There is no public position which I want. If I can serve the country at any time I will do so freely and without reward.”
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AT ONE OF HIS CAMPAIGN STOPS, IN HARTFORD, GRANT WAS INTRODUCED by Samuel Clemens. “By years of colossal labor and colossal achievement you at last beat down a gigantic rebellion and saved your country from destruction,” Clemens said. “Then the country commanded you to take the helm of state. You preferred your great office of general of the army and the rest and comfort which it afforded, but you loyally obeyed and relinquished permanently the ample and well earned salary of the generalship and resigned your accumulating years to the chance mercies of a precarious existence.” Clemens noted, with characteristic wryness, that other countries treated their heroes better. “When Wellington won Waterloo, a battle on a level with some dozen of your victories, sordid England tried to pay him for that service with wealth and grandeur. She made him a duke and gave him four million dollars. If you had done and suffered for any other country what you have done and suffered for your own, you would have been affronted in the same sordid way. But, thank God, this vast and rich and mighty republic is imbued to the core with a delicacy which will forever preserve her from so degrading a deserving son.… Your country stands ready from this day forth to testify her measureless love and pride and gratitude toward you in every conceivable inexpensive way.”
Grant laughed with the rest of Clemens’s audience, but the money question—his money question—was a serious one. Julia’s distress at her husband’s refusal to pursue the nomination revealed not only her desire to experience again the distinction of being First Lady but also her appreciation that the presidency had afforded them the only financial security they had ever enjoyed. Grant’s mining stocks had provided the income for their world tour, but mining was a risky business and shares worth hundreds today might be worth tens tomorrow. As Grant cast about for business opportunities during the summer and autumn of 1880 he considered investing in Mexican railroads and taking the presidency of a Colorado mining company. “One thing is certain,” he wrote Adam Badeau: “I must do something to supplement my income or continue to live in Galena or on a farm. I have not got the means to live in a city.” Another thing was certain: though Grant might have settled for the rural life, Julia would not. She thrived on being at the center of American life; she would have withered in the country and made Grant’s life miserable in the process.
At least he didn’t have to worry about the children. Nellie was financially secure with Algernon Sartoris in England. Fred had married the daughter of a successful Chicago developer. Buck had just married the daughter of one of Colorado’s charter senators, Jerome Chaffee. “You know Buck is married!” Grant wrote Nellie. “Everyone speaks most highly of the young lady.” Jesse married into a prominent San Francisco family. “I do not know whether anyone has described Jesse’s wife,” Grant wrote Nellie. “She is quite small with beautiful large eyes, a very small face but prominent nose, light auburn hair, and by some thought qui
te pretty. I do not think her as pretty as either Ida”—Fred’s wife—“or Buck’s wife. But she is very pleasant and not a bit spoiled. The same may be said of all your sisters-in-law.” The boys were prospering. “Buck and Jesse are both doing well in their business and are entirely independent.” Fred was in the army and hence the poorest of the three. “But he has something outside of his pay”—something from Ida’s family—“which I had not at his age.”
Grant explained to Nellie that he and Julia planned to make their permanent home in New York. “We are boarding at the Fifth Avenue Hotel for the present, and will continue to do so until I know I am fixed to be entirely independent. I will then purchase or lease a house.” Grant’s friends determined to him. Illinois senator John Logan introduced a bill to restore Grant to the army’s retired list with the full pay of a general. A similar bill was introduced in the House. Grant disapproved of the special treatment. “Under no circumstances will I accept the place if the bill passes,” he wrote Logan. His moral veto helped kill the bill. Other admirers stepped privately into the breach. Anthony Drexel, George Childs and J. P. Morgan headed a group of bankers, merchants and industrialists who proposed a fund to assist the Grants financially. “In any other great nation such a fund would not be necessary,” Drexel explained to Edwards Pierrepont, observing that most countries pensioned their heroes. Drexel and the others recommended that twenty persons each subscribe $5,000 toward a “presidential retiring fund.”
The idea caught on. The list of contributors expanded beyond the twenty and the contribution total passed $200,000. The original plan had been to invest the money and let the Grants live off the dividends; in the event, Drexel and the others decided to apply part of it toward the purchase of a home in New York. “I am sure I turned deathly pale,” Julia recalled of the moment when Drexel and Childs told her the news. The proprietor of the Fifth Avenue Hotel had cut the Grants a deal, but the rent still strained their budget. “I was so startled that I did not respond until Mr. Childs asked, ‘Is not that nice?’ ” She replied, “Oh, yes, yes indeed, but talk with the General first. See if he approves.” “Oh, no,” Childs said. “We have decided it is to be yours. The General has nothing to do with it. It is yours, and what is yours is the General’s.” Julia’s relief and joy were still palpable years later. “So I was to have a beautiful home, all my own,” she wrote.
Though Garfield was president, Grant remained the most formidable figure in the Republican party. At fifty-eight he enjoyed solid health, and while Republican politicos had divergent opinions about him, the rank and file of the party adored him. Any slip by Garfield—whose popular margin over Hancock had been less than 2,000 votes out of 900,000 cast—might cause the party to turn once again to the hero of Appomattox.
Grant avoided such talk but watched Garfield carefully. “I hope with you that Garfield will give us an administration that will break up the solid South and not pander to the Republican soreheads and bolters,” he wrote a political ally. “He certainly will know that a thousand friends are more deserving of favors at his hands—I should say recognitions—than one ‘holier than thou art’ Republican who votes our ticket only when some objectionable person, hard for the party to carry, is nominated.”
As Garfield formed a cabinet, he solicited Grant’s advice. “Harmony in the Republican party,” Grant responded, “and at least the support of the whole party of your administration is certainly to be desired.” He had heard that James Blaine was being considered for secretary of state as a fence-mending measure. Grant confessed that he was torn. “I do not like the man, have no confidence in his friendship nor in his reliability. But he is—has been—a leading member of the party and has many followers.” Then again, he had many enemies and might prove a disruptive figure in the cabinet. Garfield would have to decide for himself, Grant said. He tendered his best wishes. “There is no member of your own family more desirous of seeing your administration a success than me. The good of the whole country requires harmonious Republican government until all the results of the war are secured.”
Meanwhile Grant gave visibility to issues he feared Garfield would be tempted to ignore. Rutherford Hayes had bought peace with the South by abandoning African Americans there; Grant strove to recommit the Republican party to their defense. He spoke conspicuously at a benefit concert for the Colored Citizens’ Association of New York and Brooklyn. “I sincerely hope with you that the time is not far distant when all the privileges that citizenship carries with it will be accorded you throughout the land without any opposition,” he said. Some Republicans and very many Democrats contended that blacks couldn’t be trusted to vote responsibly; Grant rejected this claim. “I have no fear that the franchise will not be exercised as carefully and judiciously by our fellow citizens of African descent as by any others. Perhaps more care will be used because it is a boon so recently given to your race and therefore prized more highly.” Many blacks were taking exemplary advantage of such opportunities as they found. “I am glad to see in my travels the progress in education all over the country made by the colored people, even in the South, where the prejudice is the strongest. It is rare to see a colored child lose an opportunity to get a common-school education. Education is the first great step toward the capacity to exercise the new privileges accorded to you wisely and properly. I hope the field may be open to you, regardless of any prejudice which may have heretofore existed.”
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IN JANUARY 1881 SAMUEL CLEMENS SUGGESTED THAT GRANT WRITE a book about his life and career. Grant responded skeptically. “Your kind letter of the 8th came to hand in due time,” he said on the 14th. “I had delayed answering it until this time not because of any doubt as to how to answer it but because of the principal reason I have for not doing what you suggest, namely laziness. The same suggestion you make has been frequently made by others, but never entertained for a moment. In the first place I have always distrusted my ability to write anything that would satisfy myself, and the public would be much more difficult to please. In the second place I am not possessed of the kind of industry necessary to undertake such a work.” Grant noted that Adam Badeau had been working on a book about his—Grant’s—wartime experiences. John Russell Young, the Herald reporter who had followed him around the world, was compiling a book on that journey. “It would be unfair to them for me to do anything now that would in any way interfere with the sale of their work,” he told Clemens. “Then too they have done it much better than I could if I was to try.”
But he didn’t want to disappoint Clemens completely. “If I ever settle down in a house of my own I may make notes which some one of my children may use after I am gone.” Nothing before then, however. He closed cordially: “I am very much obliged to you for your kind suggestions and for the friendship which inspires them and will always appreciate both. If you want to see me about this, or any other matter at any time, I beg that you will feel no hesitation in calling. I will always be glad to see you and hear you no matter whether your views and mine agree or not.”
Still, he had to make a living. Grant joined a group of investors who aimed to do for Mexico what the Central Pacific and Union Pacific Railroads had done for the United States. At a dinner at Delmonico’s in New York he called on his own experiences in Mexico and in the American West to expound to Jay Gould, Collis Huntington and other railroad men the opportunities Mexico afforded to them, to the United States and to Mexicans themselves. Mexico had gotten past the political turbulence of its first half century of independence and was on a promising path. “They have thirteen years really of growth,” Grant said. “And I am perfectly satisfied that with the building of railroads and of telegraphs there need be no more apprehension for the safety of capital invested in Mexico than in our own country. The building of railroads will give employment to labor and will give rapid transit from one part of the country to another.… I look for a bright and prosperous and rapid future for Mexico, and it must result in a very large commerce with some par
t of the world. If we take advantage of the time, it will accrue to the benefit of the United States more than to that of any other country except Mexico, and Mexico will be necessarily more benefited than any other country.”
Grant was sufficiently persuasive that Gould immediately proposed the creation of a committee to effect Grant’s vision. Gould and Huntington were members; Grant was chairman. The Mexican Southern Railroad Company was chartered in New York in early 1881 and Grant was named company president. He initially accepted neither salary nor ownership; if things worked out he would take compensation later. That spring he traveled to Mexico on the company’s behalf. “I have long been of the opinion that the United States and Mexico should be the warmest of friends and enjoy the closest commercial relations,” he told a Mexico City audience. The economies of the two countries were complementary, he said, with the United States producing fruits, vegetables and grains of the temperate zone while Mexico cultivated plants of the tropics. By trading with each other, the two countries would keep their gold and silver from flowing out of the hemisphere. Grant understood that some Mexicans perceived American investment as a threat to Mexican sovereignty; where American dollars went, they said, the American flag would follow. To refute this claim Grant cited one of his failures as president. He briefly recounted his efforts to annex Santo Domingo and explained that although the interests of the two countries recommended annexation and the Dominican people desired it, the Senate had rejected it. There was a lesson for Mexico: “I am sure that even if it could be shown that all the people of Mexico were in favor of the annexation of a portion of their territory to the United States, it would still be rejected. We want no more land. We do want to improve what we have, and we want to see our neighbors improve and grow so strong that the designs of any other country could not endanger them.”