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packed all of Grant’s belongings and carried them ahead to Fort Jesup, sent a kindly letter to Ohio telling Grant not to open any mail postmarked from the Jefferson Barracks until his leave expired. This allowed Grant to feign ignorance about his unit’s shipping out and also gave him one last chance to slip away and make his case with Julia when he returned from leave.
    That day came on May 20. Lieutenant Richard “Dick” Ewell, an eccentric friend from West Point, was the duty officer. Ewell was energetic and profane, spoke with a lisp, swore constantly, and had chronic dyspepsia, a habit of tilting his head to one side while speaking, and eyes that bulged from his skull. Ewell was not a shining example of regimental decorum. So when Grant applied for one more week of leave to spend time at White Haven, the unconventional Virginian was just the sort of man who would readily agree — and he did.
    Grant galloped his horse Fashion to Julia’s house. The road was muddy from heavy rains. The Gravois Creek, normally nothing more than a trickle, was a raging torrent that had overflowed its banks. Yet Grant needed to cross, for the Gravois Creek lay between him and White Haven. “I looked at it a moment to consider what to do. One of my superstitions had always been when I started to go anywhere, or to do anything, not to turn back, or stop until the thing intended was accomplished,” he wrote. “So I struck into the stream, and in an instant the horse was swimming and I was being carried down by the current.”
    Grant didn’t panic. Putting steady and even pressure on the reins, he guided the horse through the roiling waters. By the time Grant reached the far bank, his entire uniform was a soggy mess. Though careless and even sloppy in many ways, Grant was determined to look his absolute best for Julia. Instead of racing toward White Haven, he trotted Fashion to the home of Julia’s older brother John, two miles down the road. There Grant borrowed fresh, dry clothes and then resumed his mission.
    Julia was lying down for an afternoon nap when her maid rushed in, saying that Sam Grant was riding up to the house — and in civilian attire. Julia leaped from her bed and rushed to the window.
    “Sure enough, there he was,” Julia wrote. But rather than hurry from the bedroom to greet him, she did as Grant had done, taking a few extra minutes to look in the mirror and primp so she could look her finest. “As soon as I could arrange my toilet, I repaired to the sitting room, and to my surprise, found Lieutenant Grant in the dining room, not far from my door.”
    Grant spent the next week riding back and forth between the Jefferson Barracks and White Haven. He and Julia attended a wedding together in Saint Louis, where she was surprised to discover that she was far more interested in her escort than in the society bachelors trying to win her attention.
    Finally it was time for Grant to ship out, perhaps never to return. Once again, he sat down alone with Julia to discuss their future. This time, both understood the depth of their feelings. Said Grant, “I mustered up the courage to make known, in the most awkward manner imaginable, the discovery I had made on learning that the Fourth Infantry had been ordered away from Jefferson Barracks. The young lady afterwards admitted that she too, although until then she had never looked upon me as other than a visitor whose company was agreeable to her, had experienced a depression of spirits she could not account for when the regiment left.”
    Once again, Sam Grant slipped his gold West Point ring from his finger and asked his beloved Julia to wear it, definitely proposing marriage. She said yes — under one condition: “I begged him not to say anything to Papa about our engagement, and he consented to this simply on account of shyness. When he asked me to wear his class ring I took it and wore it.” She, in turn, gave Grant a lock of her hair.
    O N JUNE 8, 1844 , the matter of