was not room enough in the steeple for another gun, because he probably would have looked upon such a statement as a contradiction from a second lieutenant.
I took the captain with me, but did not use the gun.”
Here in his prompt and perfect sagacity stands the future Grant
Thus ends this chapter of his life, and in it he may be said to have hit the mark.
His careless dress and modesty had not entirely hidden the man beneath them.
And now follows a darkening time, in which he misses the mark altogether.
War had forced him to exert himself.
When war stopped, he stopped also.
His ease-loving nature furnished no inward ambition to keep him going; and so, in the dead calm of a frontier post, he degenerated.
This drifting and stagnation filled thirteen years, but is not long to tell.
In July, 1848, he left Mexico
with his regiment.
He was a