Chapter XVI: Introduction (11)

Meade had with him in the field seven corps of infantry: the First, commanded temporarily by Doubleday; the Second, by Hancock, recently promoted; the Third, by Sickles; the Fifth, his own corps, now turned over to Sykes; the Sixth, Sedgwick, fortunately not displaced, though so unjustly censured for his noble work on May 3d; the Eleventh, Howard; and the Twelfth, Slocum. The excellent cavalry divisions were under Buford, Kilpatrick, and Gregg; and in the lower places capable young officers--Custer, Merritt, Farnsworth, Devin, Gamble--were pushing into notice. Of field-guns there were three hundred and forty. It was a fault of the Union organization that corps, divisions, and brigades were too small, bringing about, among other evils, too large a number of general and staff officers.[249] The Confederates here were wiser. Lee faced Meade’s seven corps with but three, and two hundred and ninety-three guns; but each Confederate corps was nearly or quite twice as large as a Union corps; divisions and brigades were in the same relative proportion. The Army of the Potomac numbered 88,289 effectives; the Army of Northern Virginia, 75,000.[250]

(Federal: hollow bars, Confederate: solid bars)]

Meade at once chose and caused to be surveyed a position on Pipe Creek, just south of the Maryland line, as a field suitable to be held should the enemy come that way. He marched, however, northwestward cautiously, his corps in touch but spread wide apart, ready for battle and protecting as ever the capital and cities of the coast.[251] His especial reliance in this hour of need was John F. Reynolds, hand in hand with whom he had proceeded in his career from the day when, as fellow-brigadiers, they repulsed A. P. Hill at Beaver Dam Creek. This man he trusted completely and loved much. He warmly approved Hooker’s action in committing to Reynolds the left wing nearest the enemy, made up of the First, Third, and Eleventh corps. This made Reynolds second in command. Meade, commander-in-chief, retained the centre and right. So the armies hovered, each uncertain of the other’s exact whereabouts, during the last days of June.

On July 1st, though Stuart for the moment was out of the campaign, the Federal cavalry was on hand. Buford’s division, thrown out from the Federal left, moved well forward north of the town of Gettysburg, and were met by Heth’s division of Hill’s corps, marching forward, it is said, with no more hostile purpose at the time than that of getting shoes.[252] Buford held his line valiantly, being presently joined by Reynolds. The two, from the cupola of the seminary near by, studied the prospect hurriedly. A stand must be made then and there, and the First Corps, close at hand, was presently in support of the bold horsemen, who, dismounted, were with their carbines blocking the advance of the hostile infantry.

The most irreparable and lamentable loss of the entire battle now occurred at the very outset. Reynolds fell dead at the front, leaving the left divisions without a leader in the most critical hour. Heth’s advance was roughly handled; one brigade was mostly captured, Doubleday nodding, with a pleasant “Good-morning, I am glad to see you,” to its commander, his old West Point chum Archer, as the latter was passed to the rear among the prisoners.[253] There were still other captures and much fighting; but Ewell was fast arriving by the roads from the north; and although Howard, with the Eleventh Corps, came up from the south at the same time, the heavier Confederate battalions could not be held. Barlow, thrown out far forward into Ewell’s path, was at once badly wounded, whereupon his division was repulsed. The Eleventh Corps in general gave way before Ewell’s rush, rolling back disordered through the town, where large numbers were captured. Fortunately, on the high crest of Cemetery Hill, Howard had stationed in reserve the division of Steinwehr. What broken brigades and regiments, fleeing through the town, could reach this point were forthwith rallied and reorganized. Thus, at mid-day of July 1st, things were hopeful for Lee. The First Corps, its flank exposed by the retirement of the Eleventh Corps, fell back fighting through Gettysburg to Cemetery Hill during the afternoon. Lee swept the Federals from the town and the fields and ridges beyond. Had Ewell stormed Cemetery Hill at once, Lee might have won a great success.

One of the first marks of a capacity for leadership is the power to choose men, and Meade now showed this conspicuously. He had lost Reynolds, his main dependence, a loss that no doubt affected greatly the fortunes of the first day’s battle; he replaced Reynolds with a young officer whom it was necessary to push over the heads of several seniors; but a better selection could not have been made. Of the splendid captains whom the long agony of the Army of the Potomac was slowly evolving, probably the best as an all-round soldier was Winfield Scott Hancock. Since his West Point training, finished in 1844,[254] he had had wide and thorough military experience, climbing laboriously from colonel to corps commander, winning out from each grade to the next higher through faithful and able service. He could deal with figures; was diligent over papers and office drudgery; he was a patient drill-master--all these, and at the same time so dashing and magnetic in the field that he early earned the title “The Superb.”[255] His vigor, moreover, was tempered by judgment.

Hancock it was whom Meade now sent forward from Taneytown, thirteen miles away, when he was anxiously gathering in his host, to lead the hard-pressed left wing; he was to judge whether the position should be held, as Reynolds had thought, or a retirement attempted toward the surveyed lines of Pipe Creek. The apparition on Cemetery Hill, just before four o’clock, July 1st, of Hancock upon his sweating charger, was equal to a reinforcement by an army corps. Fugitives halted; fragments of formations were welded into proper battle-lines. In the respite given by Ewell, so ill-timed for Lee, the shattered First and Eleventh corps found breathing-space and plucked up heart. At six o’clock they were joined by the Twelfth Corps, that of the steadfast Slocum. Hancock, now feeling that there were troops enough for the present, and resolute leaders, galloped back to report to his chief. Upon his report Meade concentrated everything toward Cemetery Hill, the troops plodding through the moonlit night. Meade himself reached the field an hour past midnight, gaunt and hollow-eyed through want of sleep,[256] but clear in mind and stout of heart. At dawn of July 2d the Second Corps, at the head of which Gibbon had taken Hancock’s place, and the Third Corps, Sickles, were at hand. At noon arrived the Fifth, and soon after the Sixth, Sedgwick having marched his men thirty-four miles in eighteen hours.

Two parallel ridges, their crests separated by an interval of not quite a mile, extend at Gettysburg north and south. The more westerly of these, called, from the Lutheran College there, Seminary Ridge, was the scene of the first attack on July 1st, but on the second day became the main Confederate position. The eastern ridge, terminated at its northern end by the town cemetery, close to which Howard so fortunately stationed Steinwehr on the first day, became the Federal stronghold. Cemetery Ridge was really shaped like a fishhook, its line curving eastward to the abrupt and wooded Culp’s Hill, the barb of the hook. At the curve the ridge was steep and rough with ledges and bowlders; as it ran southward its height diminished until, after a mile or so, it rose again into two marked elevations--Round Top, six hundred feet high, with a spur, Little Round Top, just north.

On the morning of July 2d the Federals lay along this ridge in order as follows: at the extreme right, on Culp’s Hill (the fishhook’s barb), the Twelfth Corps, Slocum; at the bend, near the cemetery, the Eleventh Corps, Howard, reinforced from other bodies; on their left the First, now under Newton, and the Second, Gibbon. The First and Second corps formed, as it were, the shank of the hook, which the Third, Sickles, was expected to prolong. The Fifth, on arriving, took place behind the Third; and the Sixth, when it appeared from the east, helped to make secure the trains and sent aid elsewhere. The convex formation presently proved to be of incalculable value, enabling Meade to strengthen rapidly any threatened point. Fronting their foe, the Confederates lay in a parallel concave line, Ewell close at the curve and in the town, and A. P. Hill on Seminary Ridge; this line Longstreet prolonged southward, his right flank opposed to Round Top. The concave formation was an embarrassment to Lee--no reinforcements could reach threatened points without making a wide circuit.

(From a print of the time)]

When Meade, supposing that Sickles had prolonged with the Third Corps the southward-stretching line, reviewed the field, he found the Third Corps thrown out far in advance, to the Emmittsburg road, which here passed along a dominating ridge; the break in the continuity of his line filled the general with alarm, but it was too late to change. Whether or not Sickles blundered will not be argued here. Meade condemned; other good authorities have approved, among them Sheridan, who regarded as just Sickles’ claim that the line marked out by Meade was untenable.[257]

What happened here will presently be told.

Lee, too, was out of harmony with Longstreet, his well-tried second; and the first matter in dispute was the expediency of fighting at all at Gettysburg. When Longstreet, coming from Chambersburg, took in the situation, he urged upon Lee, bent upon his battle, a turning of the Federal left as better strategy, by which the Confederates might interpose between Meade and Washington and compel Meade to make the attack. Longstreet held Lee to be perfect in defensive warfare; on the offensive, however, he thought him “over-combative” and liable to rashness.[258] Lee rejected the advice with a touch of irritation; and when Longstreet, acquiescing, made a second suggestion--namely, for a tactical turning of the Federal left instead of a direct assault--Lee pronounced for the assault in a manner so peremptory that Longstreet could say no more. From first to last at Gettysburg, Longstreet was ill at ease, in spite of which his blows fell like those from the hammer of a war-god. The friends of Lee have denounced him for a sluggishness and insubordination that, as they claim, lost for them the battle.[259] His defence of himself is earnest and pathetic, of great weight as coming from one of the most able and manful figures on either side in the Civil War.

Of Longstreet’s three divisions, only one, that of McLaws, was on hand with all its brigades on the forenoon of July 2d. At noon arrived Law, completing Hood’s division. Pickett’s division was still behind; but in mid-afternoon, without waiting for him, Longstreet attacked--Hood, with all possible energy, striking Sickles in his far-advanced position and working dangerously around his flank toward the Round Tops. Longstreet’s generals, Hood and afterward Law (Hood falling wounded in the first attack), though men of courage and dash, assaulted only after having filed written protests, feeling sure that the position could be easily turned and gained with little fighting. But Lee had been peremptory, and no choice was left.[260]

Gouverneur K. Warren, then chief-engineer of the Army of the Potomac, despatched by Meade to the left during the afternoon, found the Round Tops undefended. They were plainly the key to the Federal position, offering points which, if seized by the enemy, would make possible an enfilading of the Federal line. Troops of the Twelfth Corps, at first stationed there, had been withdrawn and their places not supplied. There was not a moment to lose. Even as he stood, Warren beheld in the opposite woods the gleam of arms from Longstreet’s swift advance. Leaping down from ledge to ledge, he met a brigade of the Fifth Corps, just arrived and marching to the aid of Sickles. These he diverted to the eyrie he had so lately left; a battery, too, was dragged up over the rocks, and none too soon. At that very moment the men of Hood charged out of the valley, and the height was held only by the most obstinate combat.

From the valley, meantime, came up a tumult of arms which, as the sun threw its rays aslant, spread wider and louder. Longstreet and A. P. Hill threw in upon the Third Corps every man available; while, on the other hand, Meade poured in to its support division after division from the Fifth, and at last from the Second and Twelfth.[261] About six o’clock Sickles fell wounded; by sunset his line was everywhere forced back, though not in rout. By dusk the Confederates had mastered all resistance in the valley. But the line once reached which Meade had originally designed, running north from Little Round Top to Cemetery Ridge, retreat went no farther. That line was not crossed by foot of foe. When night fell the Round Tops were held firmly, while troops from the Sixth Corps guarded the Union left. Nearer the centre stood the Third and Fifth, much shattered but still defiant. In a way, what had happened was but a rectification of Meade’s line: the Confederates, indeed, had won ground, but the losses they had inflicted were no more appalling than those they had received.

Meantime, fighting no less determined and sanguinary had taken place at the cemetery and Culp’s Hill. Lee’s plan contemplated a simultaneous attack at the north and south; but Ewell, at the north, was late in his advance, and the intended effect of distracting the Federals was wellnigh lost. The Louisiana brigade dashed itself in vain against the height just above the town. The Stonewall division fared better; for, the Federal defenders being for the most part withdrawn, they seized intrenchments on Culp’s Hill, penetrating far--for Meade a most critical advance, since they came within thirty rods of the Baltimore turnpike, where lay his trains and reserve ammunition. The South has always believed that, had Stonewall Jackson been there, the Federal rear would have been reached, and rout and capture made certain.

For both sides it had been a day of terrible experiences, and for the Federals the outlook was perhaps more gloomy than for their foes. On each flank the Confederates had gained an advantage, and Lee probably felt a hopefulness which the circumstances did not really justify. Meade gathered his generals at midnight in council. It was in a little room, but ten or twelve feet square, a group dust-covered and sweat-stained, the strong faces sternly earnest. Some sat on the bed; some stood; Warren, wounded, stretched out on the floor, was overcome by sleep. There was no vote but to fight it out on the morrow. In this Meade acquiesced, carefully planning for a retreat, however, should the need arise. To Gibbon, commanding the Second Corps, placed between the wings, he said: “Your turn will come to-morrow. To-day he has struck the flanks; next, it will be the centre.”[262]

Lee was drawn on by the success of the first day to fight again on the second; his success on the second induced him to try for the third time; but he had exhausted his good-fortune. At earliest dawn of July 3, 1863, began a wrestle for the possession of Culp’s Hill, Ewell heavily reinforcing the Stonewall division which had won footing there the night before, and the Twelfth Corps as stubbornly struggling for the ground it had lost. It was a fight of six hours, in which the extreme northern wings of the two armies only were concerned. The Federals won, at a heavy sacrifice of life.

Elsewhere the armies rested, an ominous silence at last reigning on the trampled and bloody field under the mid-day sun. Meade and his soldiers knew that it portended danger, and with a sure intuition the army chief was watching with especial care the centre, as yet unassailed. On the Confederate side, the unhappy Longstreet, at odds with his chief as to the wisdom of the campaign from the start, and disapproving both its strategy and tactics, was now in deeper gloom than ever. Lee had determined to assault the Federal centre, and by a cruel turn of fate the blow must be struck by the reluctant Longstreet. Of the three great Confederate corps, it was only in Longstreet’s that a force remained as yet unwrung by the fearful agonies of the last two days. Pickett’s division, solidly Virginian, and in the eyes of Lee a Tenth Legion in its valor, as yet had done nothing, and was to bear the brunt of the attack. “What troops do you design for the assault?” Longstreet had asked. Lee, having indicated Pickett’s division of five thousand, with auxiliary divisions, making an entire number in the charging column of fifteen thousand, the Georgian burst out: “I have been a soldier from the ground up. I have been with soldiers engaged in fights by couples, by squads, companies, regiments, armies, and should know as well as any one what soldiers can do. It is my opinion that no fifteen thousand men ever arrayed for battle can take that position.”[263]

But Lee was unmoved. Confident of success, he despatched Stuart, arrived at last after his raid, so long and futile, around beyond the Federal right. When the Union centre should be broken and Meade thrown into retreat, Stuart was to seize its only practicable route for retreat, the Baltimore pike, and make the defeat decisive.

Meade, meantime, had managed warily and well. At his centre stood Hancock, his best lieutenant. There were massed the First and Second corps, with reserve troops at hand ready to pour in at the word, with batteries bearing upon front and flank, every approach guarded, every man and horse on the alert. The provost guards, and in the rear of all a regiment of cavalry, formed in line behind, had orders to shoot any faint-hearts who, in the crisis, should turn from the foe to flee.[264] At one o’clock two signal-guns were heard on Seminary Ridge, upon which followed a terrible cannonade, appalling but only slightly harmful, for the waiting ranks found cover from the missiles. Feeling sure that this was a prelude to something more serious, the Federal chief relaxed his fire to spare his ammunition. It was understood on the other side that the Federal guns were silenced; and that moment having been appointed as the time for the onset, Pickett inquired of Longstreet if he should go forward. Longstreet, convinced that the charge must fail, made no reply, though the question was repeated. “I shall go forward,” said Pickett, to which his general bowed his head. Instantly was heard the footbeat of the fifteen thousand, and the heavy-hearted Longstreet, mounting his horse, rode out to behold the sacrifice. He has recorded that the column passed him down the slope high-hearted, buoyant, hopeful, Pickett riding gracefully, like a holiday soldier, with cap set jauntily on his long, auburn locks.[265]

The silence of the Federal guns had been for a purpose. As Pickett’s men appeared there was a sudden reopening of their tumult; a deadly sequence from round-shot to canister, and thence to the Minié-balls of the infantry. The defenders now saw before them, as they peered through the battle smoke from their shelter, a solid wedge of men, the division of Pickett, flanked by masses on the right and left commanded by Pettigrew and Wilcox. The column approached, and visibly melted away. Of Pickett’s commanders of brigades every one went down, and their men lay literally in heaps beside them.

“A thousand fell where Kemper led;
A thousand died where Garnett bled;
In blinding flame and strangling smoke
The remnant through the batteries broke,
And crossed the line with Armistead.”

A hundred or so, led by Armistead, his cap held aloft on his sword-point, actually penetrated the Federal line and reached the “clump of trees” just beyond, holding for a few moments a battery. Pettigrew and Trimble, just north, struggled also for a footing. But the foothold was only for a moment; on front and flank the Federals converged, and the tide rolled slowly and heavily rearward. For the South all hope of victory was gone.

(From a print of the time)]

As the broken and diminished multitude fell back to Seminary Ridge, Lee rode out to meet them. He was alone, his staff being all absent, in that supreme moment, on desperate errands. His face was calm and resolute, his voice confident but sympathetic as he exclaimed, “It was all my fault; now help me to do what I can to save what is left.” It casts a light on his character that even in that hour he chided a young officer near for chastising his horse: “Don’t whip him, captain. I’ve got just such another foolish horse myself, and whipping does no good.”[266] Longstreet declares Lee said again that night, about the bivouac-fire: “It was all my fault. You ought not to have made that last attack”; and that still again Lee wrote to him at a later time, “If I had only taken your advice, even on the 3d, and moved around the Federal left, how different all might have been!”[267]

Longstreet also records that he fully expected a counter-stroke at once, and looked to his batteries, only to find the ammunition exhausted; but they were his only reliance for defence. The Federal cavalry, at that moment attacking his right, occupied troops who might otherwise have been brought to the centre.

Should there have been a counter-stroke? Hancock, lying wounded almost to death in an ambulance, reasoned that, because he had been struck by a tenpenny nail, the Confederate ammunition must be exhausted; he had strength to dictate an approval if the charge should be ordered.[268] Lincoln always felt that it should have been made, and lamented that he did not go to Gettysburg himself and push matters on the field, as the crisis required.[269] We can surmise what Grant would have done had he instead of Meade, as the sun lowered, looked across the valley from Cemetery Ridge. But the case may be put strongly for Meade: with his best lieutenants dead or wounded, worn out himself, whom else could he trust? And, in the disorder of his line, how could he tell how far his own army had been shattered in the desperate fights, or what was Lee’s condition? It was only prudent to let well enough alone. Nevertheless, a little of such imprudence as his adversary was constantly showing might perhaps have led to Lee’s complete destruction.[270] During the three fearful days the Federals had lost 3155 killed, 14,529 wounded, 5365 missing--a total of about 23,000; the Confederates, 3903 killed, 18,735 wounded, 5425 missing--a total of about 28,000.[271]

As it was, Lee stood defiantly on Seminary Ridge full twenty-four hours longer. Then, gathering his army about him, and calling in the cavalry which, during Pickett’s charge, was receiving severe punishment on its own account at the hands of Gregg and his division, he slowly withdrew. Practically undisturbed, he crossed the Potomac, followed with great deliberation by the army that had conquered but failed to crush.

Lincoln’s disappointment was never greater than over the lame outcome of Gettysburg. “We had them within our grasp,” he cried. “We had only to stretch forth our hands and they were ours, and nothing I could say or do could make the army move. Our army held the War in the hollow of their hand and they would not close it.” The honor that fell to Meade for his splendid service was deserved. While the criticism was violent he asked to be relieved. But the better nature of the North made itself evident at last, and he was retained. It was felt that he had served his country most nobly, and, though possibly falling short of the highest, deserved to be forever cherished among the immortals.

SYNOPSIS OF THE PRINCIPAL EVENTS, CHIEFLY MILITARY, BETWEEN THE BATTLES OF GETTYSBURG AND VICKSBURG, 1863, AND APPOMATTOX, 1865

1863. Surrender of Port Hudson. Conscription riots in New York. The Confederate cavalry leader, General Morgan, makes a raid into Indiana. Confederate victory at Chickamauga. Federal victories of Chattanooga, Lookout Mountain, and Missionary Ridge. Admission of Nevada into the Union. The Archduke Maximilian, of Austria, lands at Vera Cruz and assumes the crown of Mexico, with the support of French troops.

1864. The Red River expedition. Grant supersedes Halleck as commander-in-chief of the Federal armies. Storming of Fort Pillow by the Confederates. General Sherman begins his march on Atlanta. Battle of the Wilderness. Battle of Spottsylvania Court-house. Second battle of Cold Harbor. Siege of Petersburg. Sinking of the Confederate cruiser _Alabama_ by the _Kearsarge_. Confederate raid into Maryland and Pennsylvania. Federal naval victory of Mobile Bay. The Federals occupy Atlanta. Battle of Winchester and Cedar Creek. Abraham Lincoln re-elected President. Federal occupation of Savannah.

1865. The Federals capture Fort Fisher. General Sherman occupies Charleston. Organization of the Freedmen’s Bureau. Battle of Five Forks. Occupation of Petersburg and Richmond by the Federals, April 3rd. Surrender of General Lee at Appomattox Court-House, April 9th. Assassination of Abraham Lincoln, April 14th. Andrew Johnson succeeds to the Presidency. Capture of Jefferson Davis in Georgia. End of the Civil War. Proclamation of amnesty. The Thirteenth Amendment, abolishing slavery in the United States, becomes a part of the Constitution.

XX

THE LAST SCENE--APPOMATTOX, 1865

When, on the night of the 8th of April, 1865, the cavalry corps of the Army of the Potomac reached the two or three little houses that made up the settlement at Appomattox Depot--the station on the South-side Railroad that connects Appomattox Court-house with the travelling world--it must have been nearly or quite dark. At about nine o’clock or half-past, while standing near the door of one of the houses, it occurred to me that it might be well to try and get a clearer idea of our immediate surroundings, as it was not impossible that we might have hot work here or near here before the next day fairly dawned upon us.

My “striker” had just left me with instructions to have my horse fed, groomed, and saddled before daylight. As he turned to go he paused and put this question, “Do you think, Colonel, that we’ll get General Lee’s army to-morrow?”

“I don’t know,” was my reply; “but we will have some savage fighting if we don’t.”

As the sturdy young soldier said “Good-night, sir,” and walked away, I knew that if the enlisted men of our army could forecast the coming of the end so plainly, there was little hope of the escape of the Army of Northern Virginia.

I walked up the road a short distance, and looked carefully about me to take my bearings. It was a mild spring night, with a cloudy sky, and the soft, mellow smell of earthiness in the atmosphere that not infrequently portends rain. If rain came, then it might retard the arrival of our infantry, which I knew General Sheridan was most anxious should reach us at the earliest possible moment. A short distance from where I stood was the encampment of our headquarters escort, with its orderlies, grooms, officers’ servants, and horses. Just beyond it could be seen the dying camp-fires of a cavalry regiment, lying close in to cavalry corps headquarters. This regiment was in charge of between six and eight hundred prisoners, who had fallen into our hands just at dark, as Generals Custer and Devin, at the head of their respective cavalry commands, had charged into the station and captured four railway trains of commissariat supplies, which had been sent here to await the arrival of the Confederate army, together with twenty-six pieces of artillery. For a few moments the artillery had greatly surprised and astonished us, for its presence was entirely unexpected, and as it suddenly opened on the charging columns of cavalry it looked for a short time as though we might have all unwittingly fallen upon a division of infantry. However, it turned out otherwise. Our cavalry, after the first recoil, boldly charged in among the batteries, and the gunners, being without adequate support, sensibly surrendered. The whole affair was for us a most gratifying termination of a long day’s ride, as it must have proved later on a bitter disappointment to the weary and hungry Confederates pressing forward from Petersburg and Richmond in the vain hope of escape from the Federal troops, who were straining every nerve to overtake them and compel a surrender. To-night the cavalry corps was in their front and squarely across the road to Lynchburg, and it was reasonably certain, should our infantry get up in time on the morrow, that the almost ceaseless marching and fighting of the last ten days were to attain their legitimate result in the capitulation of General Lee’s army.

As I stood there in the dark thinking over the work of the twelve preceding days, it was borne in upon me with startling emphasis that to-morrow’s sun would rise big with the fate of the Southern Confederacy.

Just before daylight on the morning of the 9th of April, I sat down to a cup of coffee, but had hardly begun to drink it when I heard the ominous sound of a scattering skirmish fire, apparently in the direction of Appomattox Court-house. Hastily swallowing what remained of the coffee, I reported to General Sheridan, who directed me to go to the front at once. Springing into the saddle, I galloped up the road, my heart being greatly lightened by a glimpse of two or three infantrymen standing near a camp-fire close by the depot--convincing proof that our hoped-for reinforcements were within supporting distance.

It was barely daylight as I sped along, but before I reached the cavalry brigade of Colonel C. H. Smith, that held the main road between Appomattox Court-house and Lynchburg, a distance of about two miles northeast from Appomattox Depot, the enemy had advanced to the attack, and the battle had opened. When ordered into position late the preceding night, Colonel Smith had felt his way in the dark as closely as possible to Appomattox Court-house, and at or near midnight had halted on a ridge, on which he had thrown up a breastwork of rails. This he occupied by dismounting his brigade, and also with a section of horse-artillery, at the same time protecting both his flanks by a small mounted force. As the enemy advanced to the attack in the dim light of early dawn he could not see the led horses of our cavalry, which had been sent well to the rear, and was evidently at a loss to determine what was in his front. The result was that after the first attack he fell back to get his artillery in position, and to form a strong assaulting column against what must have seemed to him a line of infantry. This was most fortunate for us, for by the time he again advanced in full force, and compelled the dismounted cavalry to slowly fall back by weight of numbers, our infantry was hurrying forward from Appomattox Depot (which place it had reached at four o’clock in the morning), and we had gained many precious minutes. At this time most of our cavalry was fighting dismounted, stubbornly retiring. But the Confederates at last realized that there was nothing but a brigade of dismounted cavalry and a few batteries of horse-artillery in their immediate front, and pushed forward grimly and determinedly, driving the dismounted troopers slowly ahead of them.

I had gone to the left of the road, and was in a piece of woods with some of our cavalrymen (who by this time had been ordered to fall back to their horses and give place to our infantry, which was then coming up), when a couple of rounds of canister tore through the branches just over my head. Riding back to the edge of the woods in the direction from which the shots came, I found myself within long pistol range of a section of a battery of light artillery. It was in position near a country road that came out of another piece of woods about two hundred yards in its rear, and was pouring a rapid fire into the woods from which I had just emerged. As I sat on my horse quietly watching it from behind a rail fence, the lieutenant commanding the pieces saw me, and, riding out for a hundred yards or more toward where I was, proceeded to cover me with his revolver. We fired together--a miss on both sides. The second shot was uncomfortably close, so far as I was concerned, but as I took deliberate aim for the third shot I became aware that in some way his pistol was disabled; for using both hands and all his strength I saw that he could not cock it. I had him covered, and had he turned I think I should have fired. He did nothing of the sort. Apparently accepting his fate, he laid his revolver across the pommel of his saddle, fronted me quietly and coolly, and looked me steadily in the face. The whole thing had been something in the nature of a duel, and I felt that to fire under the circumstances savored too much of murder. Besides, I knew that at a word from him the guns would have been trained on me where I sat. He, too, seemed to appreciate the fact that it was an individual fight, and manfully and gallantly forbore to call for aid; so, lowering and uncocking my pistol, I replaced it in my holster, and shook my fist at him, which action he cordially reciprocated, and then, turning away, I rode back into the woods.

About this time the enemy’s artillery ceased firing, and I again rode rapidly to the edge of the woods, just in time to see the guns limber up and retire down the wood road from which they had come. The lieutenant in command saw me and stopped. We simultaneously uncovered, waved our hats to each other, and bowed. I have always thought he was one of the bravest men I ever faced.

I rode back again, passing through our infantry line, intending to go to the left and find the cavalry, which I knew would be on the flank somewhere. Suddenly I became conscious that firing had ceased along the whole line.

I had not ridden more than a hundred yards when I heard some one calling my name. Turning, I saw one of the headquarters aides, who came galloping up, stating that he had been hunting for me for the last fifteen minutes, and that General Sheridan wished me to report to him at once. I followed him rapidly to the right on the wood path in the direction from which he had come.

As soon as I could get abreast of him I asked if he knew what the general wanted me for.

Turning in his saddle, with his eyes fairly ablaze, he said: “Why, don’t you know? A white flag.”

All I could say was, “Really?”

He answered by a nod; and then we leaned toward each other and shook hands; but nothing else was said.

A few moments more and we were out of the woods in the open fields. I saw the long line of battle of the Fifth Army Corps halted, the men standing at rest, the standards being held butt on earth, and the flags floating out languidly on the spring breeze. As we passed them I noticed that the officers had generally grouped themselves in front of the centre of their regiments, sword in hand, and were conversing in low tones. The men were leaning wearily on their rifles, in the position of parade rest. All were anxiously looking to the front, in the direction toward which the enemy’s line had withdrawn, for the Confederates had fallen back into a little swale or valley beyond Appomattox Court-house, and were not then visible from this part of our line.

We soon came up to General Sheridan and his staff. They were dismounted, sitting on the grass by the side of a broad country road that led to the Court-house. This was about one or two hundred yards distant, and, as we afterward found, consisted of the court-house, a small tavern, and eight or ten houses, all situated on this same road or street.

Conversation was carried on in a low tone, and I was told of the blunder of one of the Confederate regiments in firing on the general and staff after the flag of truce had been accepted. I also heard that General Lee was then up at the little village awaiting the arrival of General Grant, to whom he had sent a note, through General Sheridan, requesting a meeting to arrange terms of surrender. Colonel Newhall, of our headquarters staff, had been despatched in search of General Grant, and might be expected up at almost any moment.

It was, perhaps, something more than an hour and a half later, to the best of my recollection, that General Grant, accompanied by Colonel Newhall, and followed by his staff, came rapidly riding up to where we were standing by the side of the road, for we had all risen at his approach. When within a few yards of us he drew rein, and halted in front of General Sheridan, acknowledged our salute, and then, leaning slightly forward in his saddle, said, in his usual quiet tone, “Good-morning, Sheridan; how are you?”

“First-rate, thank you, General,” was the reply. “How are you?”

General Grant nodded in return, and said, “Is General Lee up there?” indicating the court-house by a glance.

“Yes,” was the response, “he’s there.” And then followed something about the Confederate Army, but I did not clearly catch the import of the sentence.

“Very well, then,” said General Grant. “Let’s go up.”

General Sheridan, together with a few selected officers of his staff, mounted and joined General Grant and staff. Together they rode to Mr. McLean’s house, a plain two-story brick residence in the village, to which General Lee had already repaired, and where he was known to be awaiting General Grant’s arrival. Dismounting at the gate, the whole party crossed the yard, and the senior officers present went up onto the porch which protected the front of the house. It extended nearly across the entire house and was railed in, except where five or six steps led up the centre opposite the front door, which was flanked by two small wooden benches, placed close against the house on either side of the entrance. The door opened into a hall that ran the entire length of the house, and on either side of it was a single room with a window in each end of it, and two doors, one at the front and one at the rear of each of the rooms, opening on the hall. The room to the left, as you entered, was the parlor, and it was in this room that General Lee was awaiting General Grant’s arrival.

As General Grant stepped onto the porch he was met by Colonel Babcock, of his staff, who had in the morning been sent forward with a message to General Lee. He had found him resting at the side of the road, and had accompanied him to Mr. McLean’s house.

General Grant went into the house, accompanied by General Rawlins, his chief of staff; General Seth Williams, his adjutant-general; General Rufus Ingalls, his quarter-master-general; and his two aides, General Horace Porter and Lieutenant-Colonel Babcock. After a little time General Sheridan; General M. R. Morgan, General Grant’s chief commissary; Lieutenant-Colonel Ely Parker, his military secretary; Lieutenant-Colonel T. S. Bowers, one of his assistant adjutant-generals; and Captain Robert T. Lincoln and Adam Badeau, aides-de-camp, went into the house at General Grant’s express invitation, sent out, I believe, through Colonel Babcock, who came to the hall-door for the purpose, and they were, I was afterward told, formally presented to General Lee. After a lapse of a few more minutes quite a number of these officers, including General Sheridan, came out into the hall and onto the porch, leaving General Grant and General Lee, Generals Rawlins, Ingalls, Seth Williams, and Porter, and Lieutenant-Colonels Babcock, Ely Parker, and Bowers, together with Colonel Marshall, of General Lee’s staff, in the room, while the terms of the surrender were finally agreed upon and formally signed. These were the only officers, therefore, who were actually present at the official surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia.

After quite a length of time Colonel Babcock came to the door again, opened it, and glanced out. As he did so he placed his forage-cap on one finger, twirled it around, and nodded to us all, as much as to say, “It’s all settled,” and said something in a low tone to General Sheridan. Then they, accompanied by General E. O. C. Ord, the commanding-general of the Army of the James, who had just ridden up to the house, entered the house together, the hall-door partly closed again after them, leaving quite a number of us staff-officers upon the porch.

While the conference between Generals Grant and Lee was still in progress, Generals Merritt and Custer, of the Cavalry Corps, and several of the infantry generals, together with the rest of General Sheridan’s staff-officers, came into the yard, and some of them came up on the porch. Colonel Babcock came out once more, and General Merritt went back to the room with him at his request; but most, if not all, of the infantry generals left us and went back to their respective commands while the conference was still in progress and before it ended.

Just to the right of the house, as we faced it on entering, stood a soldierly looking orderly in a tattered gray uniform, holding three horses--one a fairly well-bred-looking gray, in good heart, though thin in flesh, which, from the accoutrements, I concluded belonged to General Lee; the others, a thoroughbred bay and a fairly good brown, were undoubtedly those of the staff-officer who had accompanied General Lee and of the orderly himself. He was evidently a sensible soldier, too, for as he held the bridles he baited the animals on the young grass, and they ate as though they needed all they had a chance to pick up.

I cannot say exactly how long the conference between Generals Grant and Lee lasted, but after quite a while, certainly more than two hours, I became aware from the movement of chairs within that it was about to break up. I had been sitting on the top step of the porch, writing in my field note-book, but I closed it at once, and, stepping back on the porch, leaned against the railing nearly opposite and to the left of the door, and expectantly waited. As I did so the inner door slowly opened, and General Lee stood before me. As he paused for a few seconds, framed in by the doorway, ere he slowly and deliberately stepped out upon the porch, I took my first and last look at the great Confederate chieftain. This is what I saw: A finely formed man, apparently about sixty years of age, well above the average height, with a clear, ruddy complexion--just then suffused by a deep-crimson flush that, rising from his neck, overspread his face and even slightly tinged his broad forehead, which, bronzed where it had been exposed to the weather, was clear and beautifully white where it had been shielded by his hat--deep-brown eyes, a firm but well-shaped Roman nose, abundant gray hair, silky and fine in texture, with a full gray beard and mustache, neatly trimmed and not over-long, but which, nevertheless, almost completely concealed his mouth. A splendid uniform of Confederate gray cloth, that had evidently seen but little service, was closely buttoned about him and fitted him to perfection. An exquisitely mounted sword, attached to a gold-embroidered Russia-leather belt, trailed loosely on the floor at his side, and in his right hand he carried a broad-brimmed, soft, gray felt hat, encircled by a golden cord, while in his left he held a pair of buckskin gauntlets. Booted and spurred, still vigorous and erect, he stood bareheaded, looking out of the open doorway, sad-faced and weary--a soldier and a gentleman, bearing himself in defeat with an all-unconscious dignity that sat well upon him.

The moment the open door revealed the Confederate commander, each officer present sprang to his feet, and as General Lee stepped out onto the porch every hand was raised in military salute. Placing his hat on his head, he mechanically but courteously returned it, and slowly crossed the porch to the head of the steps leading down to the yard, meanwhile keeping his eyes intently fixed in the direction of the little valley over beyond the Court-house in which his army lay. Here he paused and slowly drew on his gauntlets, smiting his gloved hands into each other several times after doing so, evidently utterly oblivious of his surroundings. Then, apparently recalling his thoughts, he glanced deliberately right and left, and, not seeing his horse, he called, in a hoarse, half-choked voice, “Orderly! Orderly!”

“Here, General, here!” was the quick response. The alert young soldier was holding the general’s horse near the side of the house. He had taken out the bit, slipped the bridle over the horse’s neck, and the wiry gray was eagerly grazing on the fresh young grass about him.

Descending the steps, the general passed to the left of the house and stood in front of his horse’s head while he was being bridled. As the orderly was buckling the throat-latch, the general reached up and drew the fore-lock out from under the brow-band, parted and smoothed it, and then gently patted the gray charger’s forehead in an absent-minded way, as one who loves horses but whose thoughts are far away might all unwittingly do. Then, as the orderly stepped aside, he caught up the bridle-reins in his left hand, and, seizing the pommel of the saddle with the same hand, he caught up the slack of the reins in his right hand, and placing it on the cantle he put his foot in the stirrup and swung himself slowly and wearily, but nevertheless firmly, into the saddle (the old dragoon mount), letting his right hand rest for an instant or two on the pommel as he settled into his seat, and as he did so there broke unguardedly from his lips a long, low, deep sigh, almost a groan in its intensity, while the flush on his neck and face seemed, if possible, to take on a little deeper hue.

Shortly after General Lee passed down the steps he was followed by an erect, slightly built, soldierly looking officer, in a neat but somewhat worn gray uniform, a man with an anxious and thoughtful face, wearing spectacles, who glanced neither to the right nor left, keeping his eyes straight before him. Notwithstanding this, I doubt if he missed anything within the range of his vision. This officer, I was afterward told, was Colonel Marshall, one of the Confederate adjutants-general, the member of General Lee’s staff whom he had selected to accompany him.

As soon as the colonel had mounted, General Lee drew up his reins, and, with the colonel riding on his left and followed by the orderly, moved at a slow walk across the yard toward the gate.

Just as they started, General Grant came out of the house, crossed the porch, and passed down the steps into the yard. At this time he was nearly forty-two years of age, of middle height, not over-weighted with flesh, but, nevertheless, stockily and sturdily built, with light complexion, mild, gray-blue eyes, finely formed Grecian nose, an iron-willed mouth, brown hair, full brown beard with a tendency toward red rather than black, and in his manner and all his movements there was a strength of purpose, a personal poise, and a cool, quiet air of dignity, decision, and soldierly confidence that were very good to see. On this occasion he wore a plain blue army blouse, with shoulder-straps set with three silver stars equidistant, designating his rank as lieutenant-general commanding the armies of the United States; it was unbuttoned, showing a blue military vest, over which and under his blouse was buckled a belt, but he was without a sword. His trousers were dark blue and tucked into top-boots, which were without spurs, but heavily splashed with mud, for, once he knew that General Lee was waiting for him at Appomattox Court-house, he had ridden rapidly across the country, over road and field and through woods, to meet him. He wore a peculiar, stiff-brimmed, sugar-loaf-crowned, campaign hat of black felt, and his uniform was partly covered by a light-weight, dark-blue, waterproof, semi-military cloak, with a full cape, unbuttoned and thrown back, showing the front of his uniform, for while the day had developed into warm, bright, and beautifully sunny weather, the early morning had been damp, slightly foggy, and presaged rain.

As he reached the foot of the steps and started across the yard to the fence where, inside the gate, the orderlies were holding his horse and those of several of his staff-officers, General Lee, on his way to the gate, rode across his path. Stopping suddenly, General Grant looked up, and both generals simultaneously raised their hands in military salute. After General Lee had passed, General Grant crossed the yard and sprang lightly and quickly into his saddle. He was riding his splendid bay horse Cincinnati, and it would have been difficult to find a firmer seat, a lighter hand, or a better rider in either army.

As he was about to go out of the gate he halted, turned his horse, and rode at a walk toward the porch of the house, where, among others, stood General Sheridan and myself. Stopping in front of the general, he said, “Sheridan, where will you make your headquarters to-night?”

“Here, or near here; right here in this yard, probably,” was the reply.

“Very well, then; I’ll know where to find you in case I wish to communicate. Good-day.”

“Good-day, General,” was the response, and with a military salute General Grant turned and rode away.

As he rode forward and halted at the porch to make this inquiry, I had my wished-for opportunity, but my eyes sought his face in vain for any indication of what was passing in his mind. Whatever may have been there, as Colonel Newhall has well written, “not a muscle of his face told tales on his thoughts”; and if he felt any elation, neither his voice, features, nor his eyes betrayed it. Once out of the gate, General Grant, followed by his staff, turned to the left and moved off at a rapid trot.

General Lee continued on his way toward his army at a walk, to be received by his devoted troops with cheers and tears, and to sit down and pen a farewell order that, to this day, no old soldier of the Army of Northern Virginia can read without moistening eyes and swelling throat.

General Grant, on his way to his field headquarters on this eventful Sunday evening, dismounted, sat quietly down by the roadside, and wrote a short and simple despatch, which a galloping aide bore at full speed to the nearest telegraph station. On its reception in the nation’s capital this despatch was flashed over the wires to every hamlet in the country, causing every steeple in the North to rock to its foundation, and sending one tall, gaunt, sad-eyed, weary-hearted man in Washington to his knees, thanking God that he had lived to see the beginning of the end, and that he had at last been vouchsafed the assurance that he had led his people aright.

SYNOPSIS OF THE PRINCIPAL EVENTS, CHIEFLY MILITARY, BETWEEN APPOMATTOX, 1865, AND THE BATTLES OF MANILA BAY AND SANTIAGO DE CUBA, 1898

1866. The Civil Rights Bill is passed over President Johnson’s veto. Adoption of the Fourteenth Amendment granting political rights to the negro. (This amendment was proclaimed part of the Constitution in 1868.) Successful establishment of ocean telegraphy between Europe and America. Fenian raid into Canada.

1867. Admission of Nebraska into the Union. Passage of the Reconstruction Act. Purchase of Alaska from Russia. Dominion of Canada constituted. Maximilian, abandoned by the French in Mexico, is captured and shot.

1868. Impeachment and trial of President Johnson. The impeachment fails. Ulysses S. Grant elected President. Outbreak of Cuban insurrection.

1869. Adoption of the Fifteenth Amendment prohibiting the States from denying the right to vote to any citizen of the United States on account of race or color. (This amendment was proclaimed a part of the Constitution in 1870.) Completion of the Pacific Railway.

1870. Completion of reconstruction in the Southern States. Death of Lee and Farragut.

1871. Treaty of Washington for the settlement of the “Alabama” Claims. Great Fire in Chicago. Hall’s Arctic Expedition reaches lat. 82° 16´.

1872. The Geneva Tribunal makes an award to the United States on account of the “Alabama” Claims. The Emperor of Germany decides San Juan boundary question. Ulysses S. Grant re-elected President. Outbreak of the Modoc War.

1873. Surrender of the Modocs. Capture of the American steamer _Virginius_ by a Spanish gunboat. Surrender of the _Virginius_. Financial Panic.

1874. President Grant vetoes Inflation Bill. Race riots in the Southern States.

1875. Supplementary Civil Rights Bill passed.