April 9, 1865---A Stillness at Appomattox*

APRIL 9, 1865:                    

“The rebels are our countrymen again.” --- Ulysses S. Grant

I

Abraham Lincoln spends a relaxing Palm Sunday aboard the River Queen as it steams slowly northward toward Washington. The President is in a jocular mood. His guests are treated to a full selection from his endless fund of funny stories and jokes. 

His good mood vanishes once he reaches Washington in midafternoon. He is met at the dock by several of his Cabinet Secretaries, all of whom are outraged at his “negotiations” with John A. Campbell, the Confederate Assistant Secretary of War to take Virginia out of the war. Through all the crosstalk Lincoln finally divines that Campbell has announced that the President is willing to treat with Virginia as an independent State, and that he, Campbell, will be calling the Confederate Legislature into session to announce Virginia’s secession from the Confederacy --- but not its reconstruction back into the Union. 

At first Lincoln is nonplussed. He was certain that Campbell and he understood each other at their meeting in Richmond. Virginia is to come back into the Union. It is only after more shouting by his Cabinet members --- particularly Edwin Stanton --- that Lincoln decides that Campbell is merely trying to set himself up as a player in postwar Virginia politics. 

But, Lincoln adds, he still believes that the idea of calling the Virginia Legislature into session is a sound one.  The uproar begins again. No one agrees. They ask --- Stanton demands --- that the President call a Cabinet meeting to discuss this --- immediately.

Lincoln demurs. “No, I must go see Mr. Seward first. We have time to discuss this tomorrow.”

“You haven’t seen Seward in weeks!” Stanton bleats. “A few more hours won’t make any difference!”

“Ah,” says the President wisely. “That is exactly the reason I must go.” And he leaves his Cabinet standing on the street as he walks off toward Seward’s home on Lafayette Square.

Seward looks badly battered. His face is still a pastiche of black, blue, yellow and green patches. He is lying in bed propped up on pillows, breathing deeply when Lincoln arrives. Lincoln assumes Seward is asleep, but before he can turn to leave Seward opens his eyes and manages to croak despite his iron-and-leather jaw brace, “You’re back from Petersburg? 

“Yes, and Richmond. The situation in Virginia is faring better than we might expect. The people seem accepting. That is a good thing.” 

Sitting on the edge of Seward’s bed, Lincoln takes his hand. “The war will be over soon. Grant has Lee on the run. At worst, it will only be a few days.”

“That’s good.” Seward meets the President’s eyes. “It is good to see you, Abraham.”

“It is good to see you, Willum. Now, rest. The tasks of the coming days are going to be difficult. We’ve been warriors. Now we’re going to have to go back to being politicians. A much harder job, and I’m going to need you.”

Lincoln takes his leave. By the time he steps out of the room, Seward is fast asleep. They will never see each other again.   

Instead of going directly back to his office, the President visits the White House kitchens and has an early dinner. By the time he returns to his office it is after five. 

Atop the papers on his desk, waiting for him, there is a telegram.

II

After a long roundabout trip from Richmond, including a flying visit to Lee at Farmville, John C. Breckinridge, the Confederate Secretary of War, finally reaches Danville and briefs C.S. President Jefferson Davis on battlefield conditions in Virginia. He tells Davis that Lee is committed to fighting, but that, in his estimation, the situation is “extremely serious.”

III

The Fall of Mobile: 

Near Mobile, Alabama, Fort Blakley and Spanish Fort both surrender, bringing the city into Union hands.  Both battles are called “The Last Battle of The Civil War” by some historians.

 

IV

General Ulysses S. Grant U.S.A. has been awake most of the night with a punishing migraine. Hot footbaths, cold compresses, his public trademark cigars, even the faithful old pipe he smokes in private, are doing nothing to relieve the pain. He considers dosing himself with laudanum, but he needs his wits about him, and for the same reason he denies himself the surcease of alcohol. 

When will Lee surrender? Will Lee surrender? is the refrain that keeps running through his head. He keeps imagining that The Army of Northern Virginia has bypassed Custer at Appomattox Court House and is even now marching for Lynchburg. Or the mountains. If it is Lynchburg it means a siege. Another siege, another siege that might go on for months. If it is the mountains, it means partheygangerism that will destroy the nation, North and South. 

About the time that Lee calls his Council of War, Grant leaves his bed to walk under the moonlight. If the cool night air doesn’t banish his migraine, it at least clears his mind.  He returns to the comfortable house, abandoned by its Confederate owners, that he has appropriated as his Headquarters. Taking pen in hand, he writes:

APRIL 9, 1865

General R. E. LEE:

Your note of yesterday is received. I have no authority to treat on the subject of peace; the meeting proposed for 10 a.m. to-day could lead to no good. I will state, however, general, that I am equally anxious for peace with yourself, and the whole North entertains the same feeling. The terms upon which peace can be had are well understood. By the South laying down their arms they will hasten that most desirable event, save thousands of human lives, and hundreds of millions of property not yet destroyed. Seriously hoping that all our difficulties may be set-tied without the loss of another life, I subscribe myself, &c.,

U.S. GRANT,

Lieutenant-General.

With the military part of his mind Grant understands Lee, none better. In Lee’s position he would also fight to the last. He also well understands that notions of southern honor militate against surrender. But, says another, more empathic part of his mind, will Lee continue to fight literally until he is the last man standing in gray?  Grant has seen the prisoners, spoken with them. Although naturally defiant they have no more vim to carry on the fight; every man taken prisoner this week has required hospitalization, and not most for wounds.

Lee’s army is down to the size of only eight full brigades. In a set battle, Grant knows the U.S. Army will roll over them with barely a bump. Grant does not know that Lee has spoken of every man dying at his post, but if he did know, Grant would question the necessity, nay the sanity, of such a course of action. He rubs his eyes. Please don’t make me do this.

He seals the letter and dispatches it. It will not reach Lee until later in the morning.   

V

As of April 9, 1865, the Civil War continued to rage unabated in Missouri. Archie Clement, known as “Little Archie,” “Smiling Archie,” or “Demon Archie,” was a diminutive bushwhacker standing only 5’3” and weighing 130 pounds. After the death of “Bloody Bill” Anderson, Archie Clement assumed command of Anderson’s Partisan Ranger group. Archie had a particular penchant for decapitation and scalping, and killed at least a score of men personally; his command was also known for crucifying people on telegraph poles. 

Conditions in Virginia did not affect the war that Archie Clement was fighting in Missouri, and Clement continued to lead men in battle against his enemies until December 13, 1866, when he was killed in battle. 

VI

The Battle of Appomattox Court House:

The last battle of the Civil War, or at least the truly last battle of The Army of Northern Virginia, begins at daybreak on a misty morning, when the sounds of crickets and morning birds are stilled by the crash of cannons and crack of rifles.  The Army of Northern Virginia --- tattered, but proud and of indomitable spirit --- comes charging to the onset.

The Union forces facing them are half their size, but have been expecting this attack since yesterday. Breastworks lie across the Lynchburg Road and earthworks cut across the fields on either side. An initial spatter of shots becomes a drumming rain, punctuated by curses and cries, and Yip-Yip-Yips from individual men. The larger part of the Southerners’ army is too intent on combat --- or too drained --- to sound the rebel yell.  Among those who fight is Thomas Tibbs, a Confederate whose family owns a local farmstead.

The Confederate batteries are answered by Union batteries. Cavalry with batteries? the Southerners think. They must be the ones they captured yesterday.  It does seem that way.

The Battle of Appomattox Court House is very different than the Battle of Appomattox Station. Instead of being scattered and intermittent it is concentrated and constant. The lines are so close together in places that the mouths of the cannons practically touch. They blow each other to bits at pointblank range. The spongemen (those that survive) joust at each other like knights-errant with lances. 

At first, the Union lines hold, despite the battering that the Confederacy inflicts. But then slowly the Confederates push forward against determined resistance until a portion of the Union line passes through the town of Appomattox Court House itself. The foes battle in the streets. Lee is hoping that the Union cavalry can be shoved back to the siding of the Richmond-Lynchburg Rail Road two miles away, where the captured supply trains sit, and for a brief time the Rebel troops come within a thousand yards of giving the Confederacy a new lease on life. But Lee’s men are too used up, and the advance stalls. 

Even as the Confederate advance comes to a reluctant halt and begins to recede, a steady stream of Union troops begins funneling onto the field from the south. At first it is just a trickle of men, but as the minutes pass the trickle becomes a steady stream. Soon it will be a torrent. 

The Union Second Corps surrounds James Longstreet’s Division near New Hope Church, cutting it off from Lee. Longstreet himself is with Lee when his Division is encircled.

Doom comes with a boom, first one, then several, then a cacophony of explosions, first near, then far, then near and far. The field begins to erupt with geysers of dirt. The Union artillery has arrived in numbers, and in a few minutes the howitzers are firing so hard that their barrels begin to glow.   

Even at this moment there is a glimmer of hope for the Confederacy, as a number of Confederate cavalrymen break through the Union line. The desired breakthrough is achieved, and Confederate infantry come up in support. 

Whooping, the Southron horsemen charge up a low ridge* from which they can survey the entire region. And they see ---

--- directly in front of them, the Union 24^th Corps filling the horizon, rank upon rank of marching men in the hated blue uniform. Directly to the right of the 24^th Corps is the Union Fifth Corps. Looking into the hazy distance, they can see blue phalanxes moving with amazing quickness, all set on converging courses meant to meet ---

 --- right where they stand. The cavalrymen look at one another. Some spur their horses up the Lynchburg Road. They will arrive in that town with a story of the immense Union army within just a day’s bare march away.

Others wheel their horses and race down the ridge toward the break in the Union line which is being held valiantly by their comrades even as the Yankees re-form to occupy the ridge. They get through the line, evade the Federals, and head for Lee’s HQ at the gallop.

 

The battlefield is now full of Northern troops. The Army of The James has arrived. 

Even as they ride, they can see an immense force, six men abreast, coming westward down the road. The Army of The Potomac is here. Grant has 80,000 men on the field, Lee 8,000. The Army of Northern Virginia is a small gray island lost in the midst of a vast sea of blue. The cavalrymen discover that their news is already known. The gallant Army of Northern Virginia is surrounded on three sides; the only open escape route, to the north, is impassable.

It is just 8:00 A.M. The Battle of Appomattox Court House is over.

James Longstreet recalled:

. . . [O]n the morning of that fatal day, General Lee rode forward, still hoping that he might break through the countless hordes of the enemy, who hemmed us in. Halting a short distance in rear of our vanguard, he sent me on to General Gordon to ask him if he could break through the enemy. I found General Gordon and General Fitz Lee on their front line in the dim light of the morning, arranging our attack. Gordon's reply to the message (I give the expressive phrase of the gallant Georgian) was this: “Tell General Lee I have fought my corps to a frazzle, and I fear I can do nothing unless I am heavily supported by Longstreet's [encircled] corps.”

When I bore the message back to General Lee, he said, “Then there is nothing left me but to go and see General Grant, and I would rather die a thousand deaths.”

Convulsed with passionate grief, many were the wild words which we spoke as we stood around him. Said one, “Oh, general, what will history say of the surrender of the army in the field?”

He replied, “Yes, I know they will say hard things of us; they will not understand how we are overwhelmed by numbers. But that is not the question, colonel; the question is, ‘Is it right to surrender this army?’ If it is right, then I will take all the responsibility?" 

*Interestingly enough, the “low ridge” up which the Confederate cavalry charged had no name then, and it still doesn’t today. Oakville Road now runs adjacent to it. In Grant and Lee’s day, the view from the ridge was one of open tobacco fields. Today, trees screen the view of a residential subdivision in the area. Thank you to Patrick Schroeder, historian at Appomattox Court House N.H.P. for the information about the lay of the land.

VII

After the Battle of Appomattox Court House, Robert E. Lee, ever thoughtful, called a War Council of his senior officers and staff. While almost everyone there assumed that Lee had some plan to evade the Union armies massing all around them (perhaps a march north) Lee dismissed the idea. The country north of the road was rough and tumble, a land of sharp stones, thorn bushes, miserable thickets, and Virginia Quicksand. Even if the army could move north it would mean abandoning the supply wagons and the batteries. Each infantryman would be forced to carry whatever supplies he could across what was essentially a barren. There would be no food except what a man could forage, and little enough of that. 

Lee had to acknowledge that most of his men were too weak to carry enough food (if it could, by some miracle, even be had); they were too exhausted to spend time foraging; and they were simply too tired to keep fighting effectively; indeed, many men had dropped their guns and haversacks along the route of march.  

Then too, there was the James River --- the army was now positioned between the headwaters of the James and the Appomattox in a twelve mile-wide bottleneck. It would be difficult to ford the flooding Spring rivers. There simply was not enough room to maneuver the army effectively. “[Lee] couldn't go back, he couldn't go forward, and he couldn't go sideways,” remembered one Confederate who was there.

And North was the least favorable direction for the Confederacy to look toward anyway.

Lee himself was at his bitter end. He had seen his once-proud Army of Northern Virginia reduced to the size of a Division in just a week. He had lost good men in essentially pointless contests over the last seven days.  His officer corps was shrunken by disease, death and defeat. His own son was a Prisoner of War.  

Lee knew he could have ended the war by fiat, but he wanted the opinions of his most trusted fellows, Generals Longstreet, Mahone, and E.P. Alexander, among them. The heretofore unutterable word was spoken. And Longstreet, Lee and Mahone concurred. So did everyone else. 

Everyone except E. Porter Alexander. Just thirty, the dark-haired handsome young man had risen quickly in the Civil War. His mind was fast and incisive, and he understood battle the way some men understand celestial navigation --- with inherent talent. He had been a Colonel at Gettysburg, Lee Chief Artillerist, and now he was a General who thought he saw a way out of the trap. Lee knew he was gifted, and so when Alexander spoke, Lee paid close attention.

Most people assume that E. Porter Alexander recommended “guerrillaism.” The language of the exchange (as written in Alexander’s memoirs and in Southall’s biography of Lee) can be read in two ways:

. . . Thereupon Alexander proposed, as an alternative to surrender, that the men take to the woods with their arms, under orders to report to governors of their respective states.

“What would you hope to accomplish by that?” Lee queried.

It might prevent the surrender of the other armies, Alexander argued, because if the Army of Northern Virginia laid down its arms, all the others would follow suit, whereas, if the men reported to the governors, each state would have a chance of making an honorable peace. Besides, Alexander went on, the men had a right to ask that they be spared the humiliation of asking terms of Grant, only to be told that U. S. “Unconditional Surrender” Grant would live up to the name he had earned at Fort Donelson and at Vicksburg.

Lee saw such manifest danger in this proposal to become guerillas that he began to question Alexander: “If I should take your advice, how many men do you suppose would get away?”

“Two-thirds of us. We would be like rabbits and partridges in the bushes and they could not scatter to follow us.”

“I have not over 15,000 muskets left,” Lee explained. “Two-thirds of them divided among the states, even if all could be collected, would be too small a force to accomplish anything. All could not be collected. Their homes have been overrun, and many would go to look after their families.

“Then, General,” [Lee] reasoned further, “you and I as Christian men have no right to consider only how this would affect us. We must consider its effect on the country as a whole. Already it is demoralized by the four years of war. If I took your advice, the men would be without rations and under no control of officers. They would be compelled to rob and steal in order to live. They would become mere bands of marauders, and the enemy’s cavalry would pursue them and overrun many sections they may never have occasion to visit. We would bring on a state of affairs it would take the country years to recover from. And, as for myself, you young fellows might go bushwhacking, but the only dignified course for me would be to go to General Grant and surrender myself and take the consequences of my acts.”

Lee paused, and then he added, outwardly hopeful, on the strength of Grant’s letter of the previous night, whatever his inward misgivings, “But I can tell you one thing for your comfort. Grant will not demand an unconditional surrender. He will give us as good terms as this army has the right to demand, and I am going to meet him in the rear at 10 A.M. and surrender the army on the condition of not fighting again until exchanged.”

Alexander went away a humbler man. “I had not a single word to say in reply,” he wrote years afterwards. “He had answered my suggestion from a plane so far above it, that I was ashamed of having made it.”

VIII

There are amateur historians, revisionists, and Southern apologists who argue that E. Porter Alexander was not advocating guerrilla warfare. They point to the simple fact that the words “guerrilla,” “Partisan Ranger,” and “bushwhacker” appear nowhere in his comments. They indeed do not. However, Robert E. Lee knew precisely what Porter Alexander was alluding to, and told the younger man outright that he, Lee, was too old to go bushwhacking. He also expressed his concern that under Porter Alexander’s plan, “the men would be without rations and under no control of officers. They would be compelled to rob and steal in order to live. They would become mere bands of marauders.” 

 

Despite Porter Alexander’s reference to State government control of the various fractured Confederate commands, Lee understood more perfectly than Porter Alexander that the collapsing Confederate State governments, most of which were barely functioning by this point in the war, would and could exercise no control over the men nominally under their command. Unlike Porter Alexander and many others, Lee knew that the scarlet-caped cavalier-like John Mosby was not the ordinary run of Partisan Ranger. Most Confederate guerrillas were of the ilk of William Quantrill and Bloody Bill Anderson, Jesse James and Cole Younger. Lee, who was horrified at the stories coming out of Missouri, wished to spare America the fate of that blood-bespattered heartland. In nothing else that he did during the Civil War did Lee do humanity a greater service than not condemn the nation he had been raised to love to a permanent, deathly partition. At the last, Lee was an American patriot of the heart.

And perhaps the most telling clue as to what Porter Alexander actually meant was provided by Porter Alexander himself when he summed up the entire encounter by saying,  “He had answered my suggestion from a plane so far above it, that I was ashamed of having made it.” If Porter Alexander had been referring to nothing more than returning the various Confederate regiments to the control of their States of origin, he would have felt no reason for shame.

 

IX

Lee rose, and put his hand on Alexander’s shoulder, patting it. He then turned and saluted his officer corps. And he went to prepare for the ten o’clock appointment he had suggested to Grant in his last letter; he did not know yet that Grant had responded in the negative. 

Robert E. Lee dressed in a new gray uniform with a bright red silk sash around his waist, over which he buckled a gold sword deeply chased with an ornate scabbard and ivory-and-gold grip in the shape of a roaring lion’s head. On its obverse, the sword carried the inscription, “Help thyself, and God will help thee.”  

Lee had his boots polished to a mirror shine. He told his adjutant Walter Taylor II, "I have probably to be General Grant's prisoner, and thought I must make my best appearance.”

Last of all, he borrowed a spanking new white towel from General John B. Gordon C.S.A. for use as a flag of truce. Its dainty red stitching along the edges must have put him in mind of the Stainless Banner as he rode out to the picket line.

Grant was not there. Lee asked the picket to find an officer, and a few minutes past ten, an officious subaltern appeared, carrying Grant’s letter written in the hours before dawn.

Lee scanned it with a sinking heart. The officious young officer, perhaps a Lieutenant, perhaps a Lieutenant Colonel, whose name is lost to history, informed Lee that a Union attack was about to begin, that he, the Lieutenant, did not have authority to stop it, that it was too late, in any case to stop it, that Lee’s safety on the field could not be guaranteed in battle even under a flag of truce, and that it would be altogether better if Lee returned to his Headquarters to await the coming attack. 

The Civil War --- and the fate of the United States as a nation --- hung in the balance for several long moments, completely dependent on Lee’s visceral reaction to a snide young man in the uniform of the enemy. 

Finally, Lee said, “This just won’t do,” pulled out his Order Book, and wrote a note to General Ulysses S. Grant U.S.A.:

HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA,

APRIL 9, 1865

Lieut. Gen. U.S. GRANT:

I received your note of this morning on the picket-line, whither I had come to meet you and ascertain definitely what terms were embraced in your proposal of yesterday with reference to the surrender of this army. I now ask an interview in accordance with the offer contained in your letter of yesterday for that purpose.

R. E. LEE,

General.

“Please see that General Grant receives this post-haste,” Lee said, handing the note to the Lieutenant. “I shall wait here.”

The Lieutenant answered that it might be difficult to find General Grant in short order, that he would try, of course, but repeated his earlier warnings to Lee. “Really, sir, it would be far better if you returned to your headquarters.”

A gleam of steel appeared beneath the velvet glove of Lee’s self-control. He must have thought the other man slightly mad. “Time is passing either way. Please find General Grant. I will wait here.” 

The Lieutenant went off. 

As Lee waited, curious Yankee soldiers appeared, all seemingly thunderstruck to see the legendary Marse Robert. Lee, who was used to being stared at dropjawed by his own men, was comfortable under the blaze of Yankee eyes. He returned a few tentative salutes, and nodded at a few polite How do, General?s, while he sweated inwardly, waiting through seemingly interminable minutes for Grant’s response. If it would come at all.  

Perhaps tellingly, the expected attack did not begin.

A message arrived from Grant some time before 12:30 P.M.:

April 9th, 1865.

General R. E. Lee Commanding C. S. Army:

Your note of this date is but this moment (11:50 A.M.) received, in consequence of my having passed from the Richmond and Lynchburg road to the Farmville and Lynchburg road. I am at this writing about four miles west of Walker's Church, and will push forward to the front for the purpose of meeting you. Notice sent to me on this road where you wish the interview to take place will meet me.

U. S. Grant,

Lieutenant-General.

Grant later wrote of receiving this “note”:

When the officer reached me I was still suffering with the sick headache, but the instant I saw the contents of the note I was cured . . . I hastened on . . . 

 

Grant, who had been called a “butcher” by his own side, and whose motives were of course questionable to his enemies, took on the mantle of statesman that noontime on the road to Appomattox Court House with a deftness and to a degree that would put to shame the greatest of diplomats in human history. And it all began with one sentence:

Notice sent to me on this road where you wish the interview to take place will meet me.

He may have defeated Robert E. Lee in battle, but Grant saw no reason to shame him. Grant’s words were not the words of a conqueror, but the words of a conciliator. By allowing Lee this small gesture, Ulysses S. Grant set in motion the “Civil Peace” that was Abraham Lincoln’s vision for America’s renaissance.

X

At that moment Robert E. Lee knew none of this. For all he did know he might have been riding to his own hanging or a long, painful, or lonely imprisonment. Lee had, like Buddha facing down Mara the Tempter, not succumbed to the impulse to continue the war for the sake of its own continuance; unlike many other Southern men, Lee understood that what he had been fighting for --- the perpetuation of a way of life --- was, ironically enough, a goal that had been lost when the South’s decided to go to war to protect it. As long as there was a scintilla of hope that the antebellum world might be preserved Lee had fought on, bravely and gallantly. But now the fight was done. He had hope that this Civil War, unlike most civil wars, would not end in cruelty and more bloodshed. But it was only a hope. What followed would make his hope a reality.

XI

Having been entrusted the task of finding a proper site for the surrender to be concluded, Lee asked Porter Alexander to assist him. The reality was that there were very few places in the village of Appomattox Court House worthy of such use. Like the town of Amelia Court House, it was a wide spot in the road distinguished only by being the location of the county courthouse. 

 

Porter Alexander finally found a stout and comfortable red brick home with a broad porch that seemed as if it would do. Since it had formerly been Raine’s Tavern built in the late 1840s, Alexander was amazed to discover that the present owner was his own distant cousin Wilmer McLean, and doubly amazed that McLean was in Appomattox Court House. The last time the two men had met was in July 1861, when McLean had offered his home for use as Confederate Field Headquarters during the First Battle of Bull Run (First Manassas). The house at Bull Run had been destroyed by cannonfire, and McLean had removed to remote Appomattox, believing the war would never follow him. Yet, here it was. 

 

McLean was not happy to see his cousin. “What are you doing here?” he demanded indignantly. “The last time I saw you, my house got all blown to hell, and I swore I’d never look at another soldier again. Have you come to blow this house all to hell too?”

“No.” Alexander explained that the Confederate Army was about to surrender, and squarely placed the blame for all of Cousin Wilmer’s problems on the Yankees.

Apparently, this restored McLean’s good humor. In later years, McLean liked to say that the war had started in his front yard and ended in his parlor, or that in four years of war the two armies had marched from his kitchen to his living room.  

At 2:00 P.M. Robert E. Lee arrived at the McLean House to discover that Federal troops had rearranged the front parlor to accommodate two writing tables with chairs, set about eight feet apart. Lee was courteously greeted, and he was allowed to pick his seat. He chose the small marble-topped table adorned with brass candlesticks, and a seat was procured for his one aide, Charles Marshall --- Walter Taylor had begged off his usual role as adjutant. 

 

 

Lee was resplendent in his crisp gray dress uniform with its ceremonial sword clanking slightly as he moved in his chair, a bit intimidating to the other men assembled in the room perhaps, all Federal officers, and it was a mostly silent room that Ulysses S. Grant entered around 2:20 P.M.    

All those who were there that day (and many who were not) recall that a preternatural hush had fallen over Appomattox that afternoon. A kind of profound Noble Silence reigned over the scene, as if what was about to take place was under the direction of an Unseen Hand. It was a hazy grey day that promised rain but did not deliver on its promise, and the sounds of birdsong were muted outside the windows of the McLean house.

 

There are many myths surrounding that day; one of the most persistent is that Lee and Grant met outdoors in an orchard under an apple tree. Of this Grant later wrote: 

 

Wars produce many stories of fiction, some of which are told until they are believed to be true. The war of the rebellion was no exception to this rule, and the story of the apple tree is one of those fictions based on a slight foundation of fact. As I have said, there was an apple orchard on the side of the hill occupied by the Confederate forces. Running diagonally up the hill was a wagon road, which, at one point, ran very near one of the trees, so that the wheels of vehicles had, on that side, cut off the roots of this tree, leaving a little embankment. General Babcock, of my staff, reported to me that when he first met General Lee he was sitting upon this embankment with his feet in the road below and his back resting against the tree. The story had no other foundation than that. Like many other stories, it would be very good if it was only true.  

What men thought they saw were Lee and Grant, when in fact they were seeing Babcock and Lee; and later, when the two men entered the McLean House to await General Grant’s arrival, soldiers of both armies made short work of the unfortunate tree, turning every bit of it into souvenirs, until nothing was left of the tree but an upturned patch of ground. Aftercomers, rather than go away emptyhanded, turned every tree in the orchard into pocket-sized artifacts. 

Likewise, artists who were not there have Lee and Grant meeting on horseback, Lee on Traveller, Grant on Cincinnati; but in truth they did not meet until Grant entered the front parlor of the McLean home.

 

And they did not sit at the same table. Each man sat at his own small table, located about eight feet apart. Lee took the more ornate, marble-topped table, Grant the less ostentatious and smaller wooden table. In fact a time-traveler unfamiliar with the Civil War who surveyed the scene might think that Grant was surrendering to Lee, and not the other way around.   

Grant clumped into the room in his muddy riding boots. In his haste to reach the McLean house he had decided not to stop and change into a dress uniform for the occasion (and he later admitted he was rather embarrassed when he saw Lee so well turned out). For his part, Grant was wearing an ordinary army uniform, that of any private soldier, and only the shoulder straps on his jacket indicated he was the highest-ranking man in the room.

Lee rose. The two men shook hands gravely. Then Lee returned to his seat and Grant found his. Grant wrote:

What General Lee’s feelings were I do not know. As he was a man of much dignity, with an impassible face, it was impossible to say whether he felt inwardly glad that the end had finally come, or felt sad over the result, and was too manly to show it. Whatever his feelings, they were entirely concealed from my observation; but my own feelings, which had been quite jubilant on the receipt of his letter, were sad and depressed. I felt like anything rather than rejoicing at the downfall of a foe who had fought so long and valiantly, and had suffered so much for a cause, though that cause was, I believe, one of the worst for which a people ever fought, and one for which there was the least excuse. I do not question, however, the sincerity of the great mass of those who were opposed to us.    

Grant continued:

We soon fell into a conversation about old army times. He remarked that he remembered me very well in the old army [other witnesses claimed that Lee stated that he had not remembered Grant except by name, a frank admission that Grant chose to ignore in his remembrances]; and I told him that as a matter of course I remembered him perfectly [Lee was General Winfield Scott’s Chief of Staff during the Mexican War, a man most soldiers would recall], but from the difference in our rank and years (there being about sixteen years’ difference in our ages), I had thought it very likely that I had not attracted his attention sufficiently to be remembered by him after such a long interval. Our conversation grew so pleasant that I almost forgot the object of our meeting. After the conversation had run on in this style for some time, General Lee called my attention to the object of our meeting, and said that he had asked for this interview for the purpose of getting from me the terms I proposed to give his army. I said that I meant merely that his army should lay down their arms, not to take them up again during the continuance of the war unless duly and properly exchanged. He said that he had so understood my letter.

Calling for his Order Book, Grant wrote out the following in pencil:   

APPOMATTOX COURT-HOUSE, VA.

April 9, 1865

General R. E. LEE:

In accordance with the substance of my letter to you of the 8th instant, I propose to receive the surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia on the following terms, to wit: Rolls of all the officers and men to be made in duplicate, one copy to be given to an officer to be designated by me, the other to be retained by such officer or officers as you may designate. The officers to give their individual paroles not to take up arms against the Government of the United States until properly exchanged; and each company or regimental commander sign a like parole for the men of their commands. The arms, artillery, and public property to be parked and stacked, and turned over to the officers appointed by me to receive them. This will not embrace the side-arms of the officers, nor their private horses or baggage. This done, each officer and man will be allowed to return to his home, not to be disturbed by U. S. authority so long as they observe their paroles and the laws in force where they may reside.

U.S. GRANT,

Lieutenant-General.

And then Grant rose and carried the written Order to Lee by hand, a small but significant courtesy. 

Trembling slightly, Lee reached into his pocket for his spectacles, settled them on his nose, and read the terms over carefully. He suggested one or two emendations (insert a dropped word here, a comma there for clarity) and carried the Order back to Grant.

“I had noticed,” said Lee quietly, “that you make reference to the officers of the army retaining their mounts.  For this I thank you. But in the Army of the Confederate States, unlike that of the United States, the cavalrymen and artillerists also own their own horses, as do some others. May they retain them as well?”

Grant looked at the document. “The terms are quite clear ---”

“Yes, I see that,” Lee responded with a droop in his voice.

“--- however,” Grant hesitated. He seemed to be thinking. He took a cigar from his pocket, frowned at it, and returned it to his pocket. Reaching inside his uniform jacket he extracted his pipe and tobacco, filled the pipe, tamped it, lit it, and tamped it again. Finally, exhaling a cloud of pleasant blue smoke, he repeated, “however . . . I believe I am correct in assuming that many of your men are small farmers.” Grant himself had been a small farmer, and a not very successful one at that. He had named his property Hardscrabble Farm.

“That they are,” answered Lee. 

“Then I will do this,” Grant smiled. “I will not change the terms as written, but I will instruct the officers who take the paroles of your men to allow them to retain whatever horses or mules they claim to own. They will need them, after all, to put in a crop.”

“I thank you. That will have the best possible effect upon the men, and will go far toward conciliating our people,” Lee said with evident relief. “There is one other matter that is not mentioned in the terms, but which I would raise. And that is the matter of Federal Prisoners of War, of which we are currently holding approximately one thousand. I do not have the resources to care for them properly --- indeed I do not have sufficient food to feed my own men --- and I would presume that you wish them returned to your control.”

“That, of course, is what I wish. And I will immediately make arrangements to have sent across the lines 25,000 rations. Will that be sufficient?”

“More than sufficient, I assure you,” Lee said with real warmth in his voice. “Again, General, I thank you.” 

“General, see to it, then,” Grant told an aide, who answered with a sharp salute.

“Yes, sir.”

As men began bustling around the room intent on making Grant’s orders into realities, Robert E. Lee took his own Order Book from his tunic and wrote Grant a note that was in the nature of a receipt:

HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA,

April 9, 1865

Lieut. Gen. U. S. GRANT:

I have received your letter of this date containing the terms of surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia as proposed by you. As they are substantially the same as those expressed in your letter of the 8th instant, they are accepted. I will proceed to designate the proper officers to carry the stipulations into effect.

R. E. LEE,

General.

And then it was done. Grant’s aide, General Ely Parker, a full-blooded Seneca, gathered up the papers and made fair copies in ink for signature**. As Parker handed General Lee his copies, Lee supposedly said, “I am glad to see that there is at least one true American here.” Parker was said to have responded, “We are all Americans.”  

XII

Lee and Grant stood together. As they had done when they met, they shook hands upon parting. As Lee left the room, one of the Federal officers spoke in an undertone, “Such a scene only happens once in history . . .” 

Lee stepped onto the porch of the McLean house. For a long moment he gazed about him, looking over the hills and fields of Virginia. His home. Pulling on his riding gauntlets, he unconsciously balled one fist and smacked it into the opposite palm. Once, twice, thrice.

And then he mounted Traveller. By that point a crowd of curious and excited Northern soldiers had gathered, and they saluted him. He returned their salutes, and made to ride off, but not before he caught sight of Grant standing on the porch where Lee had stood but minutes before. Grant lifted his hat to Lee . . . 

. . . and Lee lifted his hat to Grant. As Lee rode away through the picket line with his back to the Federals, he relaxed the iron grip he had had on his emotions all day, and wept. 

XIII

And so, the history books tell us, ended the Civil War, after 1,458 bloody days. But Lee’s surrender of The Army of Northern Virginia was really only the first in a long series of surrenders that took place over more than the next two months. And in odd corners of the nation the shooting would go on in fits and starts for years.

By one of the bizarre coincidences that marked the Civil War, it “began” on April 12, 1861 at 4:30 A.M. and “ended” on April 9, 1865 at 4:30 P.M., adding precisely twelve hours to the minute to the calculation of days.

General Grant’s first order of business after Lee rode off to his own lines was to telegraph Washington D.C.: 

Headquarters Armies of the United States,

4:30 P.M.,

April 9, 1865

Hon. Edwin M. Stanton, Secretary of War:

Gen. Lee surrendered the Army of Northern Virginia this afternoon, upon the terms proposed by myself. The accompanying additional correspondence will show the conditions fully.

U.S. Grant,

Lieut. Gen'l.

By that time, word of the surrender had spread through the entire Union force. “Hats off, boys! It’s all over!” shouted General Meade who ordered a 100 gun salute without consulting Grant. The sudden and unexpected cannonfire made Grant’s head come up like a fire horse: 

 

What was that?”

“Sir, General Meade has ordered a salute.”

“Well, stop it, immediately. The rebels are our countrymen again, and we can show our joy, but we need not exult over their downfall.”

Grant knew that it was not “all over.” And privately he wondered how long it would go on.

Lincoln, when he discovered the telegram laid upon his desk by Stanton, hugged the burly, surprised Secretary of War, who hugged the gangly President back. After an exchange of telegrams with Grant, Lincoln ended the correspondence by saying of Robert E. Lee:

[Lee’s face] is a good face. It is the face of a noble, brave man. I am glad that the war is over at last.

XIV

And so Robert E. Lee rode back to his own lines. “Are we surrendered General?” shouted some men. One look at Lee’s face was all the answer they needed.  “We still love you, General,” most of them assured him, beginning to weep themselves. Some, however, grew angry. “I’m never surrendering myself to no damned Yankees!” a few men exploded, some of them loudly announcing their intentions to join Joe Johnston in North Carolina. A few spoke of bushwhacking.

Lee put a stop to it. He spoke quietly and fervently:

“Boys, I have done the best I could for you. Go home now. And if you make as good citizens as you have soldiers, you will do well. I shall always be proud of you. Goodbye. And God bless you all.”

 

The great drama had been played to its end. But men are seldom permitted to look upon such a scene as the one presented here. That these men should have wept at surrendering so equal a fight; at being taken out of that constant carnage and storm; at being sent back to their families; that they should have wept at having their starved and wasted forms lifted out of the jaws of death and placed once more before their hearthstones, was an exhibition of fortitude and patriotism that might set an example for all time.

  

--- John B. Gordon, late of The Army of Northern Virginia, General, Confederate States of America  

*The title of this post is borrowed with thanks and great respect from Bruce Catton's classic third volume of  his history of The Army of The Potomac.

** The written surrender at Appomattox was referred to at some point soon after as "The Gentlemen's Agreement" and so that term entered the English language.