The General's Notes

The tired old man, plagued by debt and long riddled with cancer, moved one day in June 1885 into a small woodland cottage at Mt. McGregor, N.Y. Many a biographer has recorded the last days of Ulysses S. Grant at that cottage, but few have known them as well as Hungarian-born Historian Stefan Lorant (Lincoln--A Picture Story of His Life--Harper; $6). Last week Lorant presented the source of his knowledge to West Point--a packet of manuscripts that he had bought from Grant's descendants. Among the manuscripts were nine tragic little notes, penciled by West Pointer Grant himself. Such notes were about his only means of conversation after cancer destroyed his voice.

In spite of his pain ("Oh, I can't stand it! I must die! I must go!" he once cried), the ex-President seemed to have one final ambition at McGregor: to recoup his family's fortune by completing his memoirs.* On sunny days, supported by his black cane ("I scarcely ever use my cane in going about my room," says one note. "Often when I go out, I have to look about for it to find it"), he would struggle out of the house to sit for hours on his porch, poring over his work. Though weak and fatigued ("I have not slept 30 consecutive minutes since this time yesterday"), he refused to give up. "I worked a good four hours today," he scribbled on July 1, "and wrote a short chapter for my book." A few days later he added: "I have my book off my mind now. That relieves me of a tax upon my strength which I could not avoid."

His strength did not last for long. As he grew feebler, his old friend, Methodist Episcopal Bishop John Newman, who had finally managed to baptize him three months before, tried to persuade him to take Communion. "I would only be too happy to do so," scribbled U. S. Grant, "if I felt myself fully worthy. I have a feeling in regard to taking the sacriment [sic] that no worse sin can be committed ;han to take it unworthily. I would prefer therefor not to take it, but to have the funeral service performed when I am gone." After reading this note, the bishop said there was no hurry: the general would probably live for quite a spell yet. In reply, Grant sadly shook his head. "I am sure I am right for once ..." says the ast of his notes. "I have no desire to live

. ." A few days later, General Grant ras dead.

*He succeeded. Published by Mark Twain's firm, Grant's memoirs became a runaway bestseller, eventually netted his widow $450,000--one of the highest royalty figures that any one book had ever earned.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.