Appomattox April

When we last left the Army of Northern Virginia and the Army of the Potomac, they were arrayed around Petersburg, with the former, under Robert E. Lee, defending and the latter, commanded by Ulysses S. Grant, positioning to take Richmond, 20 miles or so to the north.

That siege started in June of 1864, and it didn’t break until 1 April 1865, when Phil Sheridan’s cavalry turned Lee’s flank at the Battle of Five Forks. Grant followed through the next day, ending the siege. The Confederates evacuated the next night. Lee had intended to regroup, connect with Joe Johnston’s Army of Tennessee and find a way to turn against Grant, but he lost time when his men had to forage for provisions.

(It was always a wonder to me that the eleven states that seceded from the Union actually chose a confederate form of government—a loose affiliation with little power and even less will to enforce laws across state boundaries. Since this form of government had totally screwed the pooch when the original 13 states had attempted it following independence from Britain. A “confederated” government meant that fielding armies in fighting strength with all the equipment, supplies and services such forces require, was always pretty much a crap shoot. And that was even before the various Federal armies cut their supply lines.)

By the time Lee got to Appomattox Station, where a supply train was waiting, his army was down to one cavalry and two small infantry corps. Grant’s men harried them along the way, with Sheridan’s cavalry cutting right through the Army of Northern Virginia.

On 7 April, when Grant sent Lee a note inviting his surrender, Lee refused, but inquired about terms. By that time he’d been cut off from the hoped-for supplied, had lost considerable portions of his force and was running out of plans to realistically pull his men out of the Union vise.

There was a battle early on 9 April, but what that basically did was make it blindingly obvious that Lee’s army was vastly outnumbered. He sent a note to Grant requesting terms of surrender. Grant, en route to meet with Sheridan, replied inviting Lee to name a meeting place: The Confederates scouted the little village of Appomattox Court House and chose the house of Wilmer McLean as the best option.

(It is a true irony that McLean had lived near Manassas Junction in 1861. He’d fled Northern Virginia to escape the violence of the war, and had resettled in Appomattox. He witnessed the beginnings of the war in Virginia, and he hosted its end.)

It’s passed into lore how Lee received Grant wearing an immaculate uniform. You wonder how he was able to do that, given the condition of his army, but then you never hear of Lee being out of uniform, or mussed or dusty or rain-soaked, no matter what. Grant, on the other hand, showed up unshaven and muddy, from his boots to his rumpled shirt. Anyone viewing it from a distance would have thought he was the hired hand meeting with the boss. Or that he was the one surrendering his army.

And yet, it was Grant who—with the power hand in the relationship—was generous and scrupulous in his surrender terms. You have to understand that there were Radical Republicans in Congress and the Administration who wanted every Confederate commander and politician hanging as traitors from trees lining the roads from Richmond to Washington. Grant had considerable power to set terms that would shape subsequent surrenders and set the tone—one way or the other—for policies toward the Confederacy.

Officers gave parole not to take up arms against the Union; company and regimental commanders took responsibility for similar commitments by their men. Arms, artillery pieces and public property to be collected and turned over to Grant’s designated agent. Officers could keep their sidearms, personal horses and effects.

And then, “each officer and man will be allowed to return to their homes, not to be disturbed by United States authority so long as they observe their paroles and the laws in force where they may reside.”

Grant also permitted soldiers to take their personal horses and mules home for the spring planting, and he directed that a supply of rations be handed over to the gaunt army.

When all was agreed, the two generals shook hands and Lee rode away. At first the Federals cheered in celebration, but Grant put a stop to it. It took a few days to get everything sorted; for one thing, no Confederate commander wanted to subject his troops to a formal surrender ceremony. But on 12 April Lee’s armies massed to stack arms and colors in accordance with the terms of surrender.

Grant had assigned General Joshua L. Chamberlain (one of my personal heroes and the embodiment of the idea of a citizen-soldier) to oversee the parade. Chamberlain was still in pain from the wound he suffered in the battle of the Crater (and fortunate to be alive; it was deemed mortal at the time).

First up was General John B. Gordon’s division, marching in column between Chamberlain’s troops lined up on either side of the road. Chamberlain ordered his men to come to attention and “carry arms”, a profound gesture of respect. In his account:

“Gordon, at the head of the marching column, outdoes us in courtesy. He was riding with downcast eyes and more than pensive look, but at this clatter of arms he raises his eyes and instantly catching the significance, wheels his horse with that superb grace of which he is master, drops the point of his sword to his stirrup, gives a command, at which the great Confederate ensign following him is dipped and his decimated brigades, as they reach our right, respond to the ‘carry.’ All the while on our part not a sound of trumpet or drum, not a cheer, nor a word nor motion of man, but awful stillness as if it were the passing of the dead.”

Chamberlain knew that his order might generate blowback from Unionists, and it did. But it was the on-the-spot manifestation of the spirit of Grant’s terms—no gloating or retaliation, just respectful acknowledgement. His troops were just about as tired as Gordon’s and all the successive divisions; better fed and equipped, maybe, but every bit as ready to shed their uniforms and go home, where they could take a bath, kiss a loved one and do anything that didn’t involve discharging weapons at other men.

It’s odd—the mythos that has come down to us about the surrender at Appomattox is built heavily around the dignity and gallantry of Lee, his immaculate uniform, his grave demeanor, his impeccable manners all contrasting with Grant’s slovenliness. And yet if you look only at the actions and the results, Grant was the one who set the tone for respect, reconciliation and rebuilding a stronger, fraternal Union. No reparations; no hostages; no prisoners. Feed the hungry, discharge them with the means of livelihood to go home.

“Go home”—possibly the only two words any soldier ever wants to hear after so much as one campaign. After four years…they must have brought entire divisions to tears.

Because it brings me to tears even now, 150 years later.