A trip to the Heritage Center library to read the news of another time revealed stories of President U. S. Grant's death in 1885. He was carried to his final resting place in New York City. We had the opportunity to visit his burial place a little over a year ago. Unfortunately, my main memory is of the pit bull who lunged at us with murder in his eyes as we walked up the stairs to enter the domed building. Luckily his master pulled him up short, but it was not pleasant. Maintained as a national memorial by the National Park Service it stands as an imposing structure, and park rangers man the site. Another article written in this period reported that naysayers had their say when they added up the costs to the city of New York to hold the funeral, one million dollars.
History seems to be holding Grant in higher esteem, especially as a commanding general. We visited the Vicksburg battleground near New Orleans where it was plain to see it took good generalship to gain a victory in that terrain, and he did just that.
Casualties were extremely high in the Civil War. This article, "Going into Battle,"was reprinted in Sheldon's first newspaper, The Enterprise, and gives a strong reason why.
Said Captain George W. Stone recently: "I don't believe any man ever went into a battle without feeling frightened. I know I never did. I'll tell you when a man feels real badly. It's when he is forming his men into line for a big battle while a little skirmishing fire is kept up all the time. Every minute or so, someone, maybe your best friend, standing right next to you will shriek out, "Oh, my God," and fall back dead, yet you cannot let your men fire, for the army must be drawn up first. There is plenty of time to think. You don't dare retaliate in any way. The next bullet may find your heart, and your children will be left fatherless. It is a moment that tries the bravest man, because he has to stand quietly and take it all. But when the order comes to fight and the excitement of the battle arises, fear passes away. You have something to do. You have a duty to perform at any cost. Bullets drive into the ground at your feet, sending up little clouds of dust; they whistle past your ears and may cut holes in your clothing. Shot and shrapnel kill your comrades and leave you living, and soon there comes a feeling that some good fortune has preserved you and will protect you, and the desire to do as much damage to the enemy alone fills your mind. That was my experience in the army, and I don't believe that the man lived who did not feel at the commencement of a fight that he would rather be somewhere else."
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Grant loved to smoke his cigars, something which killed him since he contracted cancer of the esophagus from them. Warnings about tobacco usage had not yet come about. This ad ran in several editions of the paper, "We don't smoke over a dozen cigars per day, but when we do smoke, it's the Diplomats. For sale at a nickel each at Cole's drug store."
History seems to be holding Grant in higher esteem, especially as a commanding general. We visited the Vicksburg battleground near New Orleans where it was plain to see it took good generalship to gain a victory in that terrain, and he did just that.
Casualties were extremely high in the Civil War. This article, "Going into Battle,"was reprinted in Sheldon's first newspaper, The Enterprise, and gives a strong reason why.
Said Captain George W. Stone recently: "I don't believe any man ever went into a battle without feeling frightened. I know I never did. I'll tell you when a man feels real badly. It's when he is forming his men into line for a big battle while a little skirmishing fire is kept up all the time. Every minute or so, someone, maybe your best friend, standing right next to you will shriek out, "Oh, my God," and fall back dead, yet you cannot let your men fire, for the army must be drawn up first. There is plenty of time to think. You don't dare retaliate in any way. The next bullet may find your heart, and your children will be left fatherless. It is a moment that tries the bravest man, because he has to stand quietly and take it all. But when the order comes to fight and the excitement of the battle arises, fear passes away. You have something to do. You have a duty to perform at any cost. Bullets drive into the ground at your feet, sending up little clouds of dust; they whistle past your ears and may cut holes in your clothing. Shot and shrapnel kill your comrades and leave you living, and soon there comes a feeling that some good fortune has preserved you and will protect you, and the desire to do as much damage to the enemy alone fills your mind. That was my experience in the army, and I don't believe that the man lived who did not feel at the commencement of a fight that he would rather be somewhere else."
... ... ...
Grant loved to smoke his cigars, something which killed him since he contracted cancer of the esophagus from them. Warnings about tobacco usage had not yet come about. This ad ran in several editions of the paper, "We don't smoke over a dozen cigars per day, but when we do smoke, it's the Diplomats. For sale at a nickel each at Cole's drug store."
