IT IS no accident that many of the great captains of history —Miltiades, the victor of Marathon; Gustavus Adolphus, the Lion of the North; Wellington—united political and military careers as did Ulysses S. Grant. The qualities of mind and will that they displayed on tented fields were deemed to entitle them to civil leadership. The popular supposition that Wellington was made prime minister and Grant elected President as marks of gratitude for Waterloo and Appomattox is largely erroneous. They were elevated because they had shown traits of decision, determination, and tenacity that the trials of peace demanded no less than those of war. The fact that the problems of peace and war are entirely different seemed irrelevant to those who made Wellington prime minister in 1828 and those who elected Grant forty years later. Eventually admirers of both men found that the differences can be tremendous. Wellington had to shutter his house against a mob, and Grant to endure vitriolic denunciation. But faith in the abiding value of the traits both had brought to a wartime crisis persisted.
Like Washington, Grant had a history that for a quarter-century was largely the history of his country. His name came before the nation with rolls of thunder; during four years the thunder of guns, and then thunderous cheers for a war hero, a President, an ex-President turned globe-traveller, and an aspirant for a third term. The result was the creation of a unique image; to many Americans not unlike what a Kitchener and an Asquith rolled into one would have been in Great Britain later. It is usual to emphasize the dichotomy of Grant's life, and the contrast between the impressive military career and the dis