April 12, 1865---On The High Road

APRIL 12, 1865:        

“We would have been today on the high road to independence.” --- Jefferson Davis

  

I

The flag of the United States is raised in victory over Fort Sumter, precisely four years to the day it came down. Major Robert Anderson U.S.A., the Union commander on that long-ago morning, is hauling on the lanyard as the same shot-torn and smoke-stained flag that was struck rises to its proper place.

  

II

As the sun, hidden by busy rainclouds, rises over the little town of Appomattox Court House, a grand spectacle is about to unfold: The Last Parade of The Army of Northern Virginia.

General Joshua L. Chamberlain U.S.A., wounded at Gettysburg and twice wounded during the Siege of Petersburg (and having miraculously survived being shot through both hips after a dirty rifle ramrod was pushed lengthwise through his body to swab for bullet fragments) is in command of the ceremony, a ritual surrender designed by Generals Grant and Lee. Of the surrender ceremony Chamberlain later wrote:

" . . . On that night, the 10th of April, in 1865, I was commanding the 5th Army Corps . . . It was just about midnight when a message came to me to report to headquarters.

      

I went thither directly and found assembled in the tent two of the three senior officers whom General Grant had selected to superintend the paroles and to look after the transfer of property and to attend to the final details of General Lee's surrender . . . The articles of capitulation had been signed previously and it had come to the mere matter of formally settling the details of the surrender. The two officers told me that General Lee had started for Richmond, and that our leader, General Grant, was well on his way to his own headquarters at City Point . . . I was also told that General Grant had decided to have a formal ceremony with a parade at the time of laying down of arms. A representative body of Union troops was to be drawn up in battle array at Appomattox Courthouse, and past this Northern delegation were to march the entire Confederate Army, both officers and men, with their arms and colors, exactly as in actual service, and to lay down these arms and colors, as well as whatever other property belonged to the Rebel army, before our men.

      

I was told, furthermore, that General Grant had appointed me to take charge of this parade and to receive the formal surrender of the guns and flags. Pursuant to these orders, I drew up my brigade at the courthouse along the highway leading to Lynchburg. This was very early on the morning of the 12th of April.

      

The Confederates were stationed on the hill beyond the valley and my brigade, the 3rd, had a position across that valley on another hill, so that each body of soldiers could see the other. My men were all veterans . . .  Their banners were inscribed with all the battles of the army of the Potomac from the first clear through the long list down to the last . . .  [T]he prestige of that history made a remarkably strong esprit de corps.

      

In that . . . Brigade line there were regiments representing the States of Maine, Massachusetts, Michigan, and Pennsylvania, regiments which had been through the entire war. The Bay State veterans had the right of line down the village street. This was the 32d Massachusetts Regiment, with some members of the 9th, 18th, and 22d Regiments. Next in order came the First Maine Sharpshooters, the 20th Regiment, and some of the 2d. There were also the First Michigan Sharpshooters, the 1st and 16th Regiments, and some men of the 4th. Pennsylvania was represented by the 83d, the 91st, the 118th, and the 155th. In the other two brigades were: First Brigade, 198th Pennsylvania, and 185th New York; in the Second Brigade, the 187th, 188th, and 189th New York.

      

The First and Second Brigades were with me then, because I had previously commanded them and they had been very courteously sent me at my request by my corps and division commanders.

      

. . . The Third Brigade on one side of the street in line of battle; the Second, known as Gregory's, in the rear, and across the street, facing the Third; the First Brigade also in line of battle.

     

Having thus formed, the brigades standing at 'order arms,' the head of the Confederate column, General Gordon in command, and the old 'Stonewall' Jackson Brigade leading, started down into the valley which lay between us, and approached our lines. With my staff I was on the extreme right of the line, mounted on horseback, and in a position nearest the Rebel solders who were approaching our right.

      

Ah, but it was a most impressive sight, a most striking picture, to see that whole army in motion to lay down the symbols of war and strife, that army which had fought for four terrible years after a fashion but infrequently known in war.

At such a time and under such conditions I thought it eminently fitting to show some token of our feeling, and I therefore instructed my subordinate officers to come to the position of 'salute' in the manual of arms as each body of the Confederates passed before us.

      

. . . It was the 'carry arms,' as it was then known, with musket held by the right hand and perpendicular to the shoulder. I may best describe it as a marching salute in review.    

When General Gordon came opposite me I had the bugle blown and the entire line came to 'attention,' preparatory to executing this movement of the manual successively and by regiments as Gordon's columns should pass before our front, each in turn.

      

The General was riding in advance of his troops, his chin drooped to his breast, downhearted and dejected in appearance almost beyond description. At the sound of that machine like snap of arms, however, General Gordon started, caught in a moment its significance, and instantly assumed the finest attitude of a soldier. He wheeled his horse facing me, touching him gently with the spur, so that the animal slightly reared, and as he wheeled, horse and rider made one motion, the horse's head swung down with a graceful bow, and General Gordon dropped his swordpoint to his toe in salutation.

      

By word of mouth General Gordon sent back orders to the rear that his own troops take the same position of the manual in the march past as did our line. That was done, and a truly imposing sight was the mutual salutation and farewell.

      

At a distance of possibly twelve feet from our line, the Confederates halted and turned face towards us. Their lines were formed with the greatest care, with every officer in his appointed position, and thereupon began the formality of surrender.

  

    

Bayonets were affixed to muskets, arms stacked, and cartridge boxes unslung and hung upon the stacks. Then, slowly and with a reluctance that was appealingly pathetic, the torn and tattered battleflags were either leaned against the stacks or laid upon the ground. The emotion of the conquered soldiery was really sad to witness. Some of the men who had carried and followed those ragged standards through the four long years of strife, rushed, regardless of all discipline, from the ranks, bent about their old flags, and pressed them to their lips with burning tears.

      

And it can well be imagined, too, that there was no lack of emotion on our side, but the Union men were held steady in their lines, without the least show of demonstration by word or by motion. There was, though, a twitching of the muscles of their faces, and, be it said, their battle-bronzed cheeks were not altogether dry. Our men felt the import of the occasion, and realized fully how they would have been affected if defeat and surrender had been their lot after such a fearful struggle.

      

Nearly an entire day was necessary for that vast parade to pass. About 27,000 stands of arms were laid down, with something like a hundred battleflags; cartridges were destroyed, and the arms loaded on cars and sent off to Wilmington.

      

Every token of armed hostility was laid aside by the defeated men. No officer surrendered his side arms or horse, if private property, only Confederate property being required, according to the terms of surrender, dated April 9, 1865, and stating that all arms, artillery, and public property were to be packed and stacked and turned over to the officer duly appointed to receive them.

      

And right here I wish to correct again that statement so often attributed to me, to the effect that I have said I received from the hands of General Lee on that day his sword . . . I never did make that claim even, as I never did receive that sword.

      

As I have said, no Confederate officer was required or even asked to surrender his side arms . . . General Lee never gave up his sword . . .

      

But, as I was saying, every token of armed hostility having been laid aside, and the men having given their words of honor that they would never serve again against the flag, they were free to go whither they would and as best they could. In the meantime our army had been supplying them with rations. On the next morning, however, the morning of the 13th, we could see the men, singly or in squads, making their way slowly into the distance, in whichever direction was nearest home, and by nightfall we were left there at Appomattox Courthouse lonesome and alone.

Word of the surrender ceremony, in which gallant foes gave homage to each others’ prowess, spreads throughout the country. Many are the men who, knowing now that defeat will not mean humiliation, lay down their arms. Some turn themselves in to United States authorities, from whom they accept paroles and pardons, or swear loyalty oaths. Many more just go home.

 

III

Montgomery, Alabama, the first capital of the Confederacy and the Philadelphia of the Secessionists, fell after offering token resistance to the Union.

The token, a cavalry skirmish along Columbia Road outside of the city, resulted in one dead and two wounded for the Union. Confederate casualties remain unknown to this day.

  

Stoneman’s Raid reached Salisbury, North Carolina, and discovered that the terrible Prisoner of War camp beyond the town had been evacuated just days before. Stoneman had the remains of the camp burned, and destroyed the town itself after the locals refused to tell him what had happened to the Yankee prisoners.

IV

Jefferson Davis, the once-haughty President of the Confederacy is reduced to sleeping in a boxcar on the night of April 11-12. Clearly unwelcome in Greensboro, North Carolina, the Confederate President and his Cabinet are forced to leave town at first light on the Government railroad train which has by now become the rolling Capitol of the Confederacy. A few miles beyond Greensboro, they call upon Generals Joseph E. Johnston C.S.A. and P.G.T. Beauregard C.S.A. to report on the relative strength of their armies.

Neither man chooses to hold back the hard truth. Johnston admits that he has just enough troops, about 30,000, to be a bother to General William Tecumseh Sherman U.S.A.’s 80,000 man combined force. But, adds Johnston, “I can do no more than annoy him.”

Johnston recognizes that he has not the strength to stop, nor even to delay, the joining of Sherman’s armies with Grant’s armies. Combined, the Federal armies will outnumber the Army of Tennessee at least 6-to-1. And, he adds even more glumly, supplies and arms are beginning to run low, with no sure sources of resupply.

Yes, Beauregard answers his President, the men can conceivably move into the hills of North Carolina and the backcountry of South Carolina. But, Beauregard reminds Davis, that that Yankee general, Stoneman, is wreaking havoc in western North Carolina even as they speak  --- have no doubt, Mr. President, Beauregard insists, that Sherman can and will follow the Southern armies into whatever rabbit holes they might duck.

 Beauregard paints a bleak picture of the men being forced to scavenge and live off the land --- when they can.  But if Sherman scorches the earth (as he already has in central South Carolina), the proud army of the South shall undoubtedly starve.

Neither General wants their commands reduced to vagabond bands of marauders and thieves. Even though neither yet knows the words that Robert E. Lee has spoken to E. Porter Alexander on the morning of April ninth, they echo them.

Johnston suggests it is time to begin surrender negotiations with Sherman.

Davis is unconvinced. Lee’s forces are still fighting in central Virginia, he insists, and the joinder of the two armies will reinvigorate the Confederate cause. Davis is certain of it.

Johnston confirms the rumor that Davis discounts --- that Lee surrendered to Grant on April 9^th.

Davis, nonetheless, openly doubts Johnston’s veracity. There is a real simmering hatred between the Confederate President-in-exile and the General of his largest remaining army.

In the event, Davis does not accept the truth of Lee’s surrender until he receives Lee’s letter advising peace, a letter he disregards.

Davis later writes to his wife Varina. His words that day are telling. The situation is far, far worse than he wants to recognize:

My Dear Winnie:

I have been detained here longer than was expected . . .  I am uncertain where you are . . . General Johnston sent me a request to remain at some point where he could readily communicate with me. 

The dispersion of Lee's army and the surrender of the remnant which remained with him destroyed the hopes I entertained . . . [I]f the men who "straggled" say thirty or forty thousand in number, had come back with their arms and with a disposition to fight we might have [been victorious]; but . . . [t]hey threw away their[ ] [arms] and were uncontrollably resolved to go home.  The small guards along the road have sometimes been unable to prevent the pillage of trains and depots.

Panic has seized the country.  J. E. Johnston and Beauregard were hopeless as to recruiting their forces from the dispersed men of Lee's army and equally so as to their ability to check Sherman with the forces they had.  Their only idea was to retreat of the power to do so they were doubtful and subsequent desertions from their troops have materially diminished their strength and I learn still more weakend their confidence.

The loss of arms has been so great that should the spirit of the people rise to the occasion it would not be at this time possible adequately to supply them with the weapons of War . . .

. . . The issue is one which it is very painful for me to meet.  On one hand is the long night of oppression which will follow the return of our people to the 'Union"; on the other the suffering of the women and children, and courage among the few brave patriots who would still oppose the invader, and /who/ unless the people would rise en masse to sustain them, would struggle but to die in vain.

I think my judgement is undisturbed by any pride of opinion or of place . . . I have sacrificed so much for the cause of the Confederacy that I can measure my ability to make any further sacrifice required, and am assured there is but one to which I am not equal, my Wife and my Children.  How are they to be saved from degradation or want is now my care . . . [S]ail from Mobile [which Davis was unaware had fallen] for a foreign port . . . The little sterling you have will be . . . very scanty . . .  but . . .  will secure you from absolute want.  For myself it may be that our Enemy will prefer to banish me, it may be that a devoted band of Cavalry will cling to me and that I can force my way across the Missi[ssippi River] and if nothing can be done there . . . then I can go to Mexico and have the world from which to choose a location.  Dear Wife this is not the fate to which I invited when the future was rose-colored to us both; but I know you will bear it even better than myself . . .  

Farewell my Dear . . . my love is all I have to offer and that has the value of a thing long possessed and sure not to be lost . . .  farewell ---

Your Husband.

V

At the White House, a still-sleepless Abraham Lincoln struggled to write the “victory” speech he planned on sharing with the Congress and the American people on this day, the victorious anniversary of Fort Sumter. Lincoln’s usual facility with words was at low ebb this day. He had already suffered with much criticism (from the Left and the Right) regarding yesterday’s off-the-cuff remarks that included a mention of possible black suffrage. His “public opinion bath” of the day had been scalding, with most of the public outraged that he had gone too far this time in promising Equal Rights to “niggers,” while the Radicals in his own party were furious that he did not go far enough in promising Equal Rights to “Freedmen.”

Eventually, Lincoln put his word-sketches aside and decided to delay the “victory” speech at least until Joe Johnston’s army in North Carolina had surrendered.    

In the meantime, he had messages bound for Richmond.  Major General Godfrey Weitzel, the Union Military Governor of Richmond had earlier wired the President regarding the matter of the city’s churches holding Easter services on Sunday, April 16th.  Lincoln responded by putting his trust in Weitzel’s judgement (services were allowed to be scheduled, though an intervening cause would mean their cancellation). Lincoln also referenced his now-discredited plan to have the Secessionist Legislature convene:

Major General Weitzel

Richmond, Va.

I have seen your despatch to Col. Hardie about the matter of prayers. I do not remember hearing prayers spoken of while I was in Richmond; but I have no doubt you have acted in what appeared to you to be the spirit and temper manifested by me while there. Is there any sign of the rebel Legislature coming together on the understanding of my letter to you? If there is any such sign, inform me what it is; if there is no such sign you may as [well] withdraw the offer.

A. Lincoln 

Weitzel found himself on the horns of a dilemma. In numerous Southern houses of worship of the 19^th Century, the spiritual and the temporal met in liturgical blessings for the President and the Government. Many of Richmond’s clergy insisted that they had no choice but to say the proper prayers for Jeff. Davis et. al., who, after all, had not yet surrendered to the Federal Government.

Father Minnigerode at Davis’ own church, St. Paul’s, was particularly stubborn on the point. Minnigerode, a personal friend of President Davis, absolutely and resolutely refused to change the liturgy without the approval of the Episcopal Bishop a fire-eating Confederate, whose whereabouts, after the fall of Richmond, were --- reportedly --- unknown.

Returning to his office from the telegraph room, Lincoln confided in his friend and sometime bodyguard Ward Hill Lamon, that he had had the “assassination dream” once again last night. And Lincoln again made a poor joke about it when Lamon, a usually stoic and stolid man, expressed his concerns about the President’s safety.