1: CHAPTER I.
Preface || 2: CHAPTER II. >>
My family is American, and has been for generations, in all its
branches, direct and collateral.
Mathew Grant, the founder of the branch in America, of which I
am a descendant, reached Dorchester, Massachusetts, in May,
1630. In 1635 he moved to what is now Windsor, Connecticut, and
was the surveyor for that colony for more than forty years. He
was also, for many years of the time, town clerk. He was a
married man when he arrived at Dorchester, but his children were
all born in this country. His eldest son, Samuel, took lands on
the east side of the Connecticut River, opposite Windsor, which
have been held and occupied by descendants of his to this day.
I am of the eighth generation from Mathew Grant, and seventh
from Samuel. Mathew Grant's first wife died a few years after
their settlement in Windsor, and he soon after married the widow
Rockwell, who, with her first husband, had been fellow-
passengers with him and his first wife, on the ship Mary and
John, from Dorchester, England, in 1630. Mrs. Rockwell had
several children by her first marriage, and others by her
second. By intermarriage, two or three generations later, I am
descended from both the wives of Mathew Grant.
In the fifth descending generation my great grandfather, Noah
Grant, and his younger brother, Solomon, held commissions in the
English army, in 1756, in the war against the French and
Indians. Both were killed that year.
My grandfather, also named Noah, was then but nine years old. At
the breaking out of the war of the Revolution, after the battles
of Concord and Lexington, he went with a Connecticut company to
join the Continental army, and was present at the battle of
Bunker Hill. He served until the fall of Yorktown, or through
the entire Revolutionary war. He must, however, have been on
furlough part of the time—as I believe most of the soldiers of
that period were—for he married in Connecticut during the war,
had two children, and was a widower at the close. Soon after
this he emigrated to Westmoreland County, Pennsylvania, and
settled near the town of Greensburg in that county. He took
with him the younger of his two children, Peter Grant. The
elder, Solomon, remained with his relatives in Connecticut until
old enough to do for himself, when he emigrated to the British
West Indies.
Not long after his settlement in Pennsylvania, my grandfather,
Captain Noah Grant, married a Miss Kelly, and in 1799 he
emigrated again, this time to Ohio, and settled where the town
of Deerfield now stands. He had now five children, including
Peter, a son by his first marriage. My father, Jesse R. Grant,
was the second child—oldest son, by the second marriage.
Peter Grant went early to Maysville, Kentucky, where he was very
prosperous, married, had a family of nine children, and was
drowned at the mouth of the Kanawha River, Virginia, in 1825,
being at the time one of the wealthy men of the West.
My grandmother Grant died in 1805, leaving seven children. This
broke up the family. Captain Noah Grant was not thrifty in the
way of "laying up stores on earth," and, after the death of his
second wife, he went, with the two youngest children, to live
with his son Peter, in Maysville. The rest of the family found
homes in the neighborhood of Deerfield, my father in the family
of judge Tod, the father of the late Governor Tod, of Ohio. His
industry and independence of character were such, that I imagine
his labor compensated fully for the expense of his maintenance.
There must have been a cordiality in his welcome into the Tod
family, for to the day of his death he looked upon judge Tod and
his wife, with all the reverence he could have felt if they had
been parents instead of benefactors. I have often heard him
speak of Mrs. Tod as the most admirable woman he had ever
known. He remained with the Tod family only a few years, until
old enough to learn a trade. He went first, I believe, with his
half-brother, Peter Grant, who, though not a tanner himself,
owned a tannery in Maysville, Kentucky. Here he learned his
trade, and in a few years returned to Deerfield and worked for,
and lived in the family of a Mr. Brown, the father of John
Brown—"whose body lies mouldering in the grave, while his soul
goes marching on." I have often heard my father speak of John
Brown, particularly since the events at Harper's Ferry. Brown
was a boy when they lived in the same house, but he knew him
afterwards, and regarded him as a man of great purity of
character, of high moral and physical courage, but a fanatic and
extremist in whatever he advocated. It was certainly the act of
an insane man to attempt the invasion of the South, and the
overthrow of slavery, with less than twenty men.
My father set up for himself in business, establishing a tannery
at Ravenna, the county seat of Portage County. In a few years he
removed from Ravenna, and set up the same business at Point
Pleasant, Clermont County, Ohio.
During the minority of my father, the West afforded but poor
facilities for the most opulent of the youth to acquire an
education, and the majority were dependent, almost exclusively,
upon their own exertions for whatever learning they obtained. I
have often heard him say that his time at school was limited to
six months, when he was very young, too young, indeed, to learn
much, or to appreciate the advantages of an education, and to a
"quarter's schooling" afterwards, probably while living with
judge Tod. But his thirst for education was intense. He
learned rapidly, and was a constant reader up to the day of his
death in his eightieth year. Books were scarce in the Western
Reserve during his youth, but he read every book he could borrow
in the neighborhood where he lived. This scarcity gave him the
early habit of studying everything he read, so that when he got
through with a book, he knew everything in it. The habit
continued through life. Even after reading the daily
papers—which he never neglected—he could give all the
important information they contained. He made himself an
excellent English scholar, and before he was twenty years of age
was a constant contributor to Western newspapers, and was also,
from that time until he was fifty years old, an able debater in
the societies for this purpose, which were common in the West at
that time. He always took an active part in politics, but was
never a candidate for office, except, I believe, that he was the
first Mayor of Georgetown. He supported Jackson for the
Presidency; but he was a Whig, a great admirer of Henry Clay,
and never voted for any other democrat for high office after
Jackson.
My mother's family lived in Montgomery County, Pennsylvania, for
several generations. I have little information about her
ancestors. Her family took no interest in genealogy, so that my
grandfather, who died when I was sixteen years old, knew only
back to his grandfather. On the other side, my father took a
great interest in the subject, and in his researches, he found
that there was an entailed estate in Windsor, Connecticut,
belonging to the family, to which his nephew, Lawson
Grant—still living—was the heir. He was so much interested in
the subject that he got his nephew to empower him to act in the
matter, and in 1832 or 1833, when I was a boy ten or eleven
years old, lie went to Windsor, proved the title beyond dispute,
and perfected the claim of the owners for a consideration—three
thousand dollars, I think. I remember the circumstance well,
and remember, too, hearing him say on his return that he found
some widows living on the property, who had little or nothing
beyond their homes. From these he refused to receive any
recompense.
My mother's father, John Simpson, moved from Montgomery County,
Pennsylvania, to Clermont County, Ohio, about the year 1819,
taking with him his four children, three daughters and one
son. My mother, Hannah Simpson, was the third of these
children, and was then over twenty years of age. Her oldest
sister was at that time married, and had several children. She
still lives in Clermont County at this writing, October 5th,
1884, and is over ninety ears of age. Until her memory failed
her, a few years ago, she thought the country ruined beyond
recovery when the Democratic party lost control in 1860. Her
family, which was large, inherited her views, with the exception
of one son who settled in Kentucky before the war. He was the
only one of the children who entered the volunteer service to
suppress the rebellion.
Her brother, next of age and now past eighty-eight, is also
still living in Clermont County, within a few miles of the old
homestead, and is as active in mind as ever. He was a supporter
of the Government during the war, and remains a firm believer,
that national success by the Democratic party means
irretrievable ruin.
In June, 1821, my father, Jesse R. Grant, married Hannah
Simpson. I was born on the 27th of April, 1822, at Point
Pleasant, Clermont County, Ohio. In the fall of 1823 we moved
to Georgetown, the county seat of Brown, the adjoining county
east. This place remained my home, until at the age of
seventeen, in 1839, I went to West Point.
The schools, at the time of which I write, were very
indifferent. There were no free schools, and none in which the
scholars were classified. They were all supported by
subscription, and a single teacher—who was often a man or a
woman incapable of teaching much, even if they imparted all they
knew—would have thirty or forty scholars, male and female, from
the infant learning the A B C's up to the young lady of eighteen
and the boy of twenty, studying the highest branches taught—the
three R's, "Reading, 'Riting, 'Rithmetic." I never saw an
algebra, or other mathematical work higher than the arithmetic,
in Georgetown, until after I was appointed to West Point. I
then bought a work on algebra in Cincinnati; but having no
teacher it was Greek to me.
My life in Georgetown was uneventful. From the age of five or
six until seventeen, I attended the subscription schools of the
village, except during the winters of 1836-7 and 1838-9. The
former period was spent in Maysville, Kentucky, attending the
school of Richardson and Rand; the latter in Ripley, Ohio, at a
private school. I was not studious in habit, and probably did
not make progress enough to compensate for the outlay for board
and tuition. At all events both winters were spent in going
over the same old arithmetic which I knew every word of before,
and repeating: "A noun is the name of a thing," which I had
also heard my Georgetown teachers repeat, until I had come to
believe it—but I cast no reflections upon my old teacher,
Richardson. He turned out bright scholars from his school, many
of whom have filled conspicuous places in the service of their
States. Two of my contemporaries there—who, I believe, never
attended any other institution of learning—have held seats in
Congress, and one, if not both, other high offices; these are
Wadsworth and Brewster.
My father was, from my earliest recollection, in comfortable
circumstances, considering the times, his place of residence,
and the community in which he lived. Mindful of his own lack of
facilities for acquiring an education, his greatest desire in
maturer years was for the education of his children.
Consequently, as stated before, I never missed a quarter from
school from the time I was old enough to attend till the time of
leaving home. This did not exempt me from labor. In my early
days, every one labored more or less, in the region where my
youth was spent, and more in proportion to their private
means. It was only the very poor who were exempt. While my
father carried on the manufacture of leather and worked at the
trade himself, he owned and tilled considerable land. I
detested the trade, preferring almost any other labor; but I was
fond of agriculture, and of all employment in which horses were
used. We had, among other lands, fifty acres of forest within a
mile of the village. In the fall of the year choppers were
employed to cut enough wood to last a twelve-month. When I was
seven or eight years of age, I began hauling all the wood used
in the house and shops. I could not load it on the wagons, of
course, at that time, but I could drive, and the choppers would
load, and some one at the house unload. When about eleven years
old, I was strong enough to hold a plough. From that age until
seventeen I did all the work done with horses, such as breaking
up the land, furrowing, ploughing corn and potatoes, bringing in
the crops when harvested, hauling all the wood, besides tending
two or three horses, a cow or two, and sawing wood for stoves,
etc., while still attending school. For this I was compensated
by the fact that there was never any scolding or punishing by my
parents; no objection to rational enjoyments, such as fishing,
going to the creek a mile away to swim in summer, taking a horse
and visiting my grandparents in the adjoining county, fifteen
miles off, skating on the ice in winter, or taking a horse and
sleigh when there was snow on the ground.
While still quite young I had visited Cincinnati, forty-five
miles away, several times, alone; also Maysville, Kentucky,
often, and once Louisville. The journey to Louisville was a big
one for a boy of that day. I had also gone once with a two-horse
carriage to Chilicothe, about seventy miles, with a neighbor's
family, who were removing to Toledo, Ohio, and returned alone;
and had gone once, in like manner, to Flat Rock, Kentucky, about
seventy miles away. On this latter occasion I was fifteen years
of age. While at Flat Rock, at the house of a Mr. Payne, whom I
was visiting with his brother, a neighbor of ours in Georgetown,
I saw a very fine saddle horse, which I rather coveted, and
proposed to Mr. Payne, the owner, to trade him for one of the
two I was driving. Payne hesitated to trade with a boy, but
asking his brother about it, the latter told him that it would
be all right, that I was allowed to do as I pleased with the
horses. I was seventy miles from home, with a carriage to take
back, and Mr. Payne said he did not know that his horse had ever
had a collar on. I asked to have him hitched to a farm wagon and
we would soon see whether he would work. It was soon evident
that the horse had never worn harness before; but he showed no
viciousness, and I expressed a confidence that I could manage
him. A trade was at once struck, I receiving ten dollars
difference.
The next day Mr. Payne, of Georgetown, and I started on our
return. We got along very well for a few miles, when we
encountered a ferocious dog that frightened the horses and made
them run. The new animal kicked at every jump he made. I got
the horses stopped, however, before any damage was done, and
without running into anything. After giving them a little rest,
to quiet their fears, we started again. That instant the new
horse kicked, and started to run once more. The road we were
on, struck the turnpike within half a mile of the point where
the second runaway commenced, and there there was an embankment
twenty or more feet deep on the opposite side of the pike. I
got the horses stopped on the very brink of the precipice. My
new horse was terribly frightened and trembled like an aspen;
but he was not half so badly frightened as my companion, Mr.
Payne, who deserted me after this last experience, and took
passage on a freight wagon for Maysville. Every time I
attempted to start, my new horse would commence to kick. I was
in quite a dilemma for a time. Once in Maysville I could borrow
a horse from an uncle who lived there; but I was more than a
day's travel from that point. Finally I took out my
bandanna—the style of handkerchief in universal use then—and
with this blindfolded my horse. In this way I reached Maysville
safely the next day, no doubt much to the surprise of my
friend. Here I borrowed a horse from my uncle, and the
following day we proceeded on our journey.
About half my school-days in Georgetown were spent at the school
of John D. White, a North Carolinian, and the father of Chilton
White who represented the district in Congress for one term
during the rebellion. Mr. White was always a Democrat in
politics, and Chilton followed his father. He had two older
brothers—all three being school-mates of mine at their father's
school—who did not go the same way. The second brother died
before the rebellion began; he was a Whig, and afterwards a
Republican. His oldest brother was a Republican and brave
soldier during the rebellion. Chilton is reported as having
told of an earlier horse-trade of mine. As he told the story,
there was a Mr. Ralston living within a few miles of the
village, who owned a colt which I very much wanted. My father
had offered twenty dollars for it, but Ralston wanted
twenty-five. I was so anxious to have the colt, that after the
owner left, I begged to be allowed to take him at the price
demanded. My father yielded, but said twenty dollars was all
the horse was worth, and told me to offer that price; if it was
not accepted I was to offer twenty-two and a half, and if that
would not get him, to give the twenty-five. I at once mounted a
horse and went for the colt. When I got to Mr. Ralston's house,
I said to him: "Papa says I may offer you twenty dollars for
the colt, but if you won't take that, I am to offer twenty-two
and a half, and if you won't take that, to give you
twenty-five." It would not require a Connecticut man to guess
the price finally agreed upon. This story is nearly true. I
certainly showed very plainly that I had come for the colt and
meant to have him. I could not have been over eight years old
at the time. This transaction caused me great heart-burning.
The story got out among the boys of the village, and it was a
long time before I heard the last of it. Boys enjoy the misery
of their companions, at least village boys in that day did, and
in later life I have found that all adults are not free from the
peculiarity. I kept the horse until he was four years old, when
he went blind, and I sold him for twenty dollars. When I went
to Maysville to school, in 1836, at the age of fourteen, I
recognized my colt as one of the blind horses working on the
tread-wheel of the ferry-boat.
I have describes enough of my early life to give an impression
of the whole. I did not like to work; but I did as much of it,
while young, as grown men can be hired to do in these days, and
attended school at the same time. I had as many privileges as
any boy in the village, and probably more than most of them. I
have no recollection of ever having been punished at home,
either by scolding or by the rod. But at school the case was
different. The rod was freely used there, and I was not exempt
from its influence. I can see John D. White—the school
teacher—now, with his long beech switch always in his hand. It
was not always the same one, either. Switches were brought in
bundles, from a beech wood near the school house, by the boys
for whose benefit they were intended. Often a whole bundle
would be used up in a single day. I never had any hard feelings
against my teacher, either while attending the school, or in
later years when reflecting upon my experience. Mr. White was a
kindhearted man, and was much respected by the community in which
he lived. He only followed the universal custom of the period,
and that under which he had received his own education.
Preface || 2: CHAPTER II. >>
