“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 24th Corps filling the horizon, rank upon rank of marching men
in the hated blue uniform. Directly to the right of the 24th 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.
** 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.
