The fairies who distribute the prizes are practical jokers.
I have known thousands who sought office, some for its distinction,
some for its emoluments, and some for both; thousands who wanted
promotion from places they held, and other thousands who wanted to
regain positions they had lost, all of whom failed in their search.
I probably would have been in one of those classes if I had been
seeking an office. I was determined, however, upon a career in
railroad work until, if possible, I had reached its highest rewards.
During that period I was offered about a dozen political
appointments, most of them of great moment and very tempting,
all of which I declined.
Near the close of President Grant's administration George Jones,
at that time the proprietor and publisher of the New York Times,
asked me to come and see him. Mr. Jones, in his association with
the brilliant editor, Henry J. Raymond, had been a progressive and
staying power of the financial side of this great journal. He was
of Welsh descent, a very hardheaded, practical, and wise business
man. He also had very definite views on politics and parties, and
several times nearly wrecked his paper by obstinately pursuing
a course which was temporarily unpopular with its readers and
subscribers. I was on excellent terms with Mr. Jones and admired
him. The New York Times became under his management one of
the severest critics of General Grant's administration and of
the president himself.
I went to his house and during the conversation Jones said to me:
"I was very much surprised to receive a letter from the president
asking me to come and see him at the White House. Of course I
went, anticipating a disagreeable interview, but it turned out
absolutely the reverse. The president was most cordial, and his
frankness most attractive. After a long and full discussion,
the president said the Times had been his most unsparing critic,
but he was forced to agree with much the Times said; that he had
sent for me to make a request; that he had come to the presidency
without any preparation whatever for its duties or for civic
responsibilities; that he was compelled to take the best advice he
could find and surround himself with men, many of whom he had
never met before, and they were his guides and teachers; that he,
however, assumed the entire responsibility for everything he had
done. He knew perfectly well, in the retrospect and with the
larger experience he had gained, that he had made many mistakes.
'And now, Mr. Jones,' he continued, 'I have sent for you as
the most powerful as well as, I think, the fairest of my critics,
to ask that you will say in your final summing up of my eight years
that, however many my errors or mistakes, they were faults of
judgment, and that I acted conscientiously and in any way I thought
was right and best.'
"I told the president I would be delighted to take that view in
the Times. Then the president said that he would like to show
his appreciation in some way which would be gratifying to me.
I told him that I wanted nothing for myself, nor did any of my
friends, in the line of patronage. Then he said he wanted my
assistance because he was looking for the best man for United States
district attorney for the district of New York. With my large
acquaintance he thought that I should be able to tell him whom
among the lawyers would be best to appoint. After a little
consideration I recommended you.
"The president then said: 'Mr. Depew supported Greeley, and
though he is back in the party and doing good service in the
campaigns, I do not like those men. Nevertheless, you can tender
him the office and ask for his immediate acceptance.'"
I told Mr. Jones what my determination was in regard to a career,
and while appreciating most highly both his own friendship and
the compliment from the president, I must decline.
General Grant's mistakes in his presidency arose from his possession
of one of the greatest of virtues, and that is loyalty to one's
friends. He had unlimited confidence in them and could not see,
or be made to see, nor listen to any of their defects. He was
himself of such transparent honesty and truthfulness that he
gauged and judged others by his own standard. Scandals among
a few of the officials of his administration were entirely due
to this great quality.
His intimacy among his party advisers fell among the most extreme
of organization men and political machinists. When, under the
advice of Senator Conkling, he appointed Thomas Murphy collector
of the port of New York, it was charged in the press that the
collector removed employees at the rate of several hundred per
day and filled their places with loyal supporters of the organization.
This policy, which was a direct reversal of the ideas of
civil-service reform which were then rapidly gaining strength,
incurred the active hostility of civil-service reformers, of whom
George William Curtis was the most conspicuous.
When General Grant came to reside in New York, after his tour
around the world, he was overwhelmed with social attentions.
I met him at dinners several times a week and was the victim
of a characteristic coldness of manner which he had towards
many people.
One St. Patrick's Day, while in Washington, I received an earnest
telegraphic request from Judge John T. Brady and his brother-in-law,
Judge Charles P. Daly, president of the Society of the Friendly
Sons of St. Patrick, saying: "The Sons are to have their greatest
celebration because they are to be honored by the presence of
General Grant, who will also speak, and it is imperative that you
come and help us welcome him."
I arrived at the dinner late and passed in front of the dais to my
seat at the other end, while General Grant was speaking. He
was not easy on his feet at that time, though afterwards he became
very felicitous in public speaking. He paused a moment until
I was seated and then said: "If Chauncey Depew stood in my shoes,
and I in his, I would be a much happier man."
I immediately threw away the speech I had prepared during the six
hours' trip from Washington, and proceeded to make a speech on
"Who can stand now or in the future in the shoes of General Grant?"
I had plenty of time before my turn came to elaborate this idea,
gradually eliminating contemporary celebrities until in the future
the outstanding figure representing the period would be the hero
of our Civil War and the restoration of the Union.
The enthusiasm of the audience, as the speech went on, surpassed
anything I ever saw. They rushed over tables and tried to carry
the general around the room. When the enthusiasm had subsided
he came to me and with much feeling said: "Thank you for that
speech; it is the greatest and most eloquent that I ever heard."
He insisted upon my standing beside him when he received the
families of the members, and took me home in his carriage.
From that time until his death he was most cordial, and at many
dinners would insist upon my being assigned to a chair next to him.
Among strangers and in general conversation General Grant was
the most reticent of men, but among those whom he knew a most
entertaining conversationalist. He went over a wide field on such
occasions and was interesting on all subjects, and especially
instructive on military campaigns and commanders. He gave me as
his judgment that among all the military geniuses of the world
the greatest was General Philip Sheridan, and that Sheridan's
grasp of a situation had no parallel in any great general of whom
he knew.
I was with General Grant at his home the day before he went from
New York to Mount McGregor, near Saratoga, where he died.
I learned of the trip and went immediately to see him, and was
met by his son, General Frederick D. Grant. I said to him:
"I learn that your father is going to Mount McGregor to-morrow,
and I have come to tender him a special train."
After all the necessary arrangements had been made he asked me
to go in and see the general. Before doing this I asked: "How
is he?" "Well," he answered, "he is dying, but it is of infinite
relief to him to see people whom he knows and likes, and I know
he wants to see you. Our effort is to keep his mind off from
himself and interest him with anything which we think will be
of relief to him, and if you have any new incidents do not fail
to tell him."
When I entered the room the general was busy writing his "Memoirs."
He greeted me very cordially, said he was glad to see me, and
then remarked: "I see by the papers that you have been recently
up at Hartford delivering a lecture. Tell me about it."
In reply I told him about a very interesting journey there;
the lecture and supper afterwards, with Mark Twain as the presiding
genius, concerning all of which he asked questions, wanting more
particulars, and the whole story seemed to interest him. What
seemed to specially please him was the incident when I arrived
at the hotel, after the supper given me at the close of my lecture.
It was about three o'clock in the morning, and I went immediately
to bed, leaving a call for the early train to New York. At five
o'clock there was violent rapping on the door and, upon opening
it, an Irish waiter stood there with a tray on which were a bottle
of champagne and a goblet of ice.
"You have made a mistake," I said to the waiter.
"No, sir," he answered, "I could not make a mistake about you."
"Who sent this?" I asked.
"The committee, sir, with positive instructions that you should
have it at five o'clock in the morning," he answered.
"Well, my friend, I said, is it the habit of the good people of
Hartford, when they have decided to go to New York on an early
train to drink a bottle of champagne at five o'clock in the morning?"