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and "Jennie." And so the circus family, below and above, get on happily together from start to finish.
In the very face of the Bishop Rock light we bury "Eagle," the beautiful black stallion whose particular accomplishment it was
O'Brien on his back. Eagle was thirty-six years old, and came from Hamburg. He had been with the show since 1869, and was probably one of the most intelligent, as well as beautiful, horses that ever appeared in the ring. They buried him by the dim light of a lantern in British waters" darkly at dead of night" and his groom stood by in the shadow of a wardrobe wagon and wept alone. Another horse, a baggage horse, died soon after, and was buried in the English Channel.
Our circus family amuse themselves on deck with the side-show band, the mandolins, and the guitars; pitching pennies; watching ships and porpoises. Madam Hodji Tahar, a pretty Arabian acrobat, with the smoothest of dark olive complexions, black eyes, and hair of midnight, entertains us- occa- to dance the couchee-couchee with John sionally with a wild Spanish dance. Pennyante in the smoking-room seems "on night and day unceasingly. Our indefatigable artist passes his day among the animals between decks, and gathers an interested circle of mothers and children about him in the cabin in the evening. And there also, at the piano, sits Oxford, warbling in a low sweet tenor, songs in French, Italian, Spanish, and the four or five other languages he knows. And the bright eyes of the little Moorish woman who also speaks half a dozen Up the Channel we steam, through the languages, but can neither read nor write fog, that is the wonted foretaste of London, any of them, swim with pleasure, and her to the ominous screech of the siren; with hands and feet and swaying figure describe the rattle of chains and the creaking of the time of the castanets and ankle bells. blocks; with all the steam windlasses going Everybody shouts across the cabin, calling fore and aft, and the men all busy removing everybody else by his or her first name. It the lashings of the cages, and getting everyis" George," and "John," and "Charlie," thing ready for a quick unloading to-morand "Bill," and "Emma," and "Lizzie," row. And so ends the voyage.
N the first day of June, 1884, General crease further. He was threatened with acGrant's physical condition, as well as tual need. His fellow citizens were harshly his financial situation, was deplorable. He critical, and he was charged with bringing
could write a book, and considered himself the last man in the world to attempt anything more than a report. The article grew in his hands from a dry statement of facts to a very full account, with which the editors were delighted. From regarding it as a laborious task, he became deeply interested in it, and readily consented to continue his work by an article on Vicksburg. It took his mind off his troubles, and carried him back amid the splendid and dramatic events of 1862 and 1863.
The second article was even more successful than the first, being less controversial in effect. And now the publishers of the country, hearing that Grant was writing his memoirs, made him the most liberal offers for a book. Then it was that he realized his power to earn not merely money for his daily needs, but to provide a competency for his wife, if he should die before her. This consideration decided him to set to work in earnest upon the retrospect of his life. He had secretly resigned himself to the thought that he was an old man and an infirm man, and that any work he had to do must be done quickly.
He called in General Adam Badeau, his military biographer, and began writing with his usual single-hearted intensity upon the account of his school-days. He worked five or six hours each day, at his house in Sixty-sixth Street, not far from the Park. He did not venture down town, and the men of Wall Street never saw him again. He was done with business, and the pleasures of his life were found in the glow of his own fire, in an occasional drive, and in the light of his grandchildren's faces. He wrote busily with his own hand, and handed the manuscript over to his son and General Badeau for revision and preparation for the printer. He was a ready and fluent writer, and little change was necessary.
BEGINNING OF GRANT'S LAST ILLNESS.
One day in the early autumn, 1884, after eating a peach, General Grant complained of pain in his throat. The pain was slight, but it returned again when he swallowed solid food. Thereafter, eating grew each day more painful; but as the spasm passed quickly away after each effort, he gave little thought to it until there came an exterior swelling of the throat that increased perceptibly. Then the seriousness of the case became apparent to Mrs. Grant. She insisted upon his calling upon Dr. Barker, the family physician. Dr.
Barker considered it serious enough to advise the care of a specialist, and suggested Dr. J. H. Douglas. Dr. Douglas made an examination, and prescribed certain lotions and gargles, and the General went back to his work, in which he was now completely absorbed. He worked five or six hours each day, and his mind was deep in the past. He was resolute to complete his book during the winter. The publishers foresaw the great value of the book, and made him feel it, in order to encourage him to proceed.
He went every day to see his physician, using the street cars from motives of economy. But notwithstanding all the lotions and alleviating washes, the pains in the throat increased, till eating became an agony which even Grant's iron will could not conceal from the watchful eyes of Mrs. Grant. Solid foods at last became impossible to him. He kept his place at the table, but seldom had a part in the meal.
In such wise the winter wore on. Steadfast friends occasionally called. Old army officers, being in the city, dropped in to see "the old commander," and neighbors from Galena or Georgetown always found a welcome. Nevertheless, Grant's life would have been very irksome had it not been for the writing which filled much of his time and nearly all of his thoughts. He was now practically unregarded by the great world of commerce and business. His friends in Congress were trying to help him by means of a bill restoring him to his rank as General of the Army and retiring him on full pay; but each attempt met with bitter opposition. The bill had been once defeated in 1881. Since then the matter had rested.
A pension had been suggested, but this the General steadily refused to consider.
There now arose a new occasion of distress to him. Some of the small creditors of the firm of Grant and Ward were attempting to levy on the souvenirs and tokens which General Grant had made over to Mr. William K. Vanderbilt in security for a loan procured by General Grant in the interest of Grant and Ward. General Grant was poor, but he was not abject. He wrote to Mr. Vanderbilt and requested him to offer for sale all the property he held, including the souvenirs and trophies of peace and war. To this Mr. Vanderbilt replied, expressing a willingness to turn over all the personal articles to be held in trust by Mrs. Grant and the General during their lifetime, and to become the property of the Government after