by Jeff Shaara
Lee took a deep breath, felt the hot pain in his throat give way, and he nodded again, said, "Yes, Colonel. See to it. Spare no effort. Prepare an order... no, a request. We need anything that can be provided."
He turned the horse, moved through the depot, rode close to the tracks, looked into each car, all of them, could not ride away from the trains without seeing it all for himself. He did not pause, moved slowly by each one, saw that every one was filled with the tools and the fuel of war. He passed the last car, turned the horse toward the camps of the men. I do not understand this, he thought, there could have been no confusion. He thought of Taylor's word, treachery, but it had not been like that, not since Northrop had been removed, but what explanation could there be? No, it was just... a message. God has denied us. I do not understand.
He rode back up the hill, toward the field where more of the army was spreading out, the men still anticipating the relief from the weakness, from the awful emptiness. He could not look at them, at the faces, thought still of Richmond, could see it now in his mind, men in blue adding to their celebration, digging through the great warehouses stacked high with the food that could save his army.
45. GRANT
APRIL 5, 1865 H
E HAD SPENT THE NIGHT IN PETERSBURG, THE STAFF CHOOSING a pleasant, modest house in the nearly deserted town. Lincoln had come to him there, a short happy visit, but was gone now, had gone back toward City Point. Grant then began the ride with his army, in pursuit of Lee's retreat.
He was west of the city, moving out on the well-worn roads, when the courier reached him, the dispatch simple and direct. Richmond was captured, had been nearly as deserted as Petersburg. The first blue troops into the city had found the last remnants of a violent and destructive departure. Some had made the decision that nothing of value would be left behind, others had simply grabbed whatever was there for the taking, and often that included liquor. Most of the citizens had fled, but they were the people who truly hoped to return. To many it was an escape from the emotion, not from the Yankees. Many simply could not bear to watch the city occupied by the men in blue. As the town emptied, the mobs had taken over, and stores, offices, and warehouses were looted. Many were burning, most from simple arson. Along the waterfront the destruction was different, the fires deliberate and necessary, the gunboats and waterfront storage sheds destroyed by the last of the rebel troops, the horrible duty of burning your own so the enemy can make no use of it.
When the Federal troops moved in, there was no fight, no opposition. The few townspeople who remained stayed mostly indoors, and in the streets there was a strange celebration, mostly Negroes, slaves and free, the people who understood as much as anyone what the fall of this city would mean.
Grant read the dispatch with regret, thought, I wish Lincoln was still here. I wish I could see his face.
Of course, Lincoln would know by now, probably knew before he did. And he knew Lincoln would go there, would have to see it for himself. Grant understood that, did not share the apprehension of some of the others, that Lincoln's life would be in danger. Yes, there could still be stragglers and deserters, men crouching low on rooftops, still determined to strike out at the enemy. If Lincoln were there, out in the open, walking the streets, he could be an irresistible target, and anything could happen. But it will not happen, he thought, because of the man himself, the message he would give to anyone who still remained, the newspaper perhaps, anyone who might represent the government of the state of Virginia.
There had been a movement already, reasonable men who looked to the future, to the mechanism for bringing Virginia back to the Union. Lincoln had encouraged that, had no intention of continuing the war when the shooting stopped, had no patience for those in Congress or the newspapers in the North who insisted on revenge, on a policy of punishment, the recklessness of a hostile relationship with those who had created the rebellion. Lincoln did not fear the streets of Richmond, especially if the cavalry and naval guard kept a sharp lookout. Grant knew Lincoln would find a way, get the message to those who held the authority, communicate that they were still part of the United States. As long as Lincoln was President, it would be as simple as that.
Grant rode farther west now, below the Appomattox River, stayed close to Edward Ord's command, the troops who had once been under Butler. The columns marched along the Southside Railroad, and all along the tracks he saw the workers ripping up one side. But it was not destruction, it was repair, adjusting the rails to fit the gauge of the Federal cars. The quartermasters had insisted, and Grant authorized the work, as long as it did not slow the march of the rest of the army. He did not believe it was really necessary, knew it was a precaution against failure. Only if Lee escaped, only if the war was to last for many months yet, would this army need the railroads.
There was no reason for him to stay close to Petersburg. The war had left that place behind, was moving away again, to a new place, new ground, where the fight would still have to be made. He had given the new orders, but the commanders already knew, the target was the rebel army, that wherever Lee went, they would go.
Much of the cavalry had moved up above the river, kept a close watch on the direction Lee was moving, but there were no surprises.
Grant knew now about Lee's disaster at Amelia, and Federal scouts and small cavalry units were following the wagons that Lee scattered into the countryside. Many were simply plucked up, the drivers captured along with their small weak escorts, and all told the same story, how they had been sent on a desperate search for food, for anything the farm country could still provide.
Whether or not Lee could feed his army, he could not stay long at Amelia. The key was the railroad, and that left only one route for Lee to follow-southwest, toward Danville.
GEROUS T
HEY WERE RIDING THROUGH DARK WOODS, A DAN route close to the camps of the enemy. There had not been time for a formal escort, and it was not the place for it. The commotion of a large security force would have certainly brought on more attention than Grant wanted. Sheridan had sounded urgent, sent a scout in a rebel uniform across miles of open country, bringing the message straight to Grant's headquarters. The message was of troop movements, positions, but it was the last few words that brought Grant and his small escort now into the dark woods: I wish you were here yourself.
Sheridan was much closer to Amelia, his cavalry still on the far west of the Federal position, leading the way in the race to cut off Lee's retreat. The Fifth Corps, Griffin's command now, was spread out across the one road that ran out of Amelia to the southwest, the road that ran parallel to the Danville Railroad. Grant had left Ord behind with simple instructions: keep moving. By morning Ord's men would be at Burkeville, also on the Danville line, and so even if Lee somehow ripped through the strength of the Fifth Corps and Sheridan's horsemen, the way would still be blocked.
Grant could see small fires now, flickers of light spread out across a wide field. He felt relief, thought, Finally, we're here. But they did not stop, moved farther, beyond the vast sea of sleeping men, and Grant realized with a quick flash of excitement: Those are not our men they are the campfires of the enemy.
There were only a dozen troopers with him, led by Sheridan's scout, a grisly looking man named Campbell. They had ridden for I could not stay on main r nearly four hours, roads, had to rely on Campbell's skills and his memory for faint trails in dim moonlight. Grant and nervous, and sudrode just behind Porter, the young man si demy the small column halted, held up by the quiet hand of the scout.
Campbell rode back toward Grant, then slowly eased into the woods, his head low, probed for a long moment, then came back into the trail, moved farther back, still searching for something. Grant thought, I hope you are as good at this as Sheridan says you are. Grant could see a small movement now, saw Porter pull his revolver, discreet, ready. Grant could not see the gun in the darkness, but knew Porter held it tightly against his chest. Porter did not trust this strange man, and Grant smiled at that, had
known Campbell for a long time, knew he was Sheridan's most trusted scout. He could say nothing to Porter, silence was still essential, but he thought, It's all right, Colonel. He's not going anywhere. There is no treachery here. Now Campbell emerged from the woods again, moved toward the front of the horsemen, motioned to the right, and then ducked again into the woods. The column followed, and Grant saw Porter's revolver go back into its holster. He waited for Porter to move into the woods, then gently spurred the horse and followed the rest of his escort.
The trees parted and there was a visible trail. Campbell turned in the saddle, looked back down the line, motioned to Grant and pointed ahead to a panorama of flickering light. Suddenly there were men, moving quickly out of the shadows, appearing all around them, the sharp sound of metal, weapons cocked, then the column abruptly halted. Grant could see one man looking straight at him, pointing the gun at his face, a carbine. These were Sheridan's men.
The man who blocked the trail said in a low voice, "Well, what we got here?"
There was a lantern now, and another man carried the light forward. Grant began to move the horse slowly to the front of the column, could see the first man was a sergeant, and the man said, "Well, lookee here! We got a reb escorting a dozen prisoners, or we got a dozen men escorting one rebel prisoner. Either way, reb, you must be some seriously important man."
Campbell looked around at Grant, who moved beside him, and now Porter began to move as well, and on both sides the carbines were raised a bit higher.
The sergeant said, "Whoa, easy there. No hurry boys, no one's going anywhere."
Porter said, "Gentlemen, we are here to see General Sheridan. This is General Grant's party. We are here at the request of General Sheridan."
The sergeant looked now at Campbell, laughed.
"Well, now, I? Or are you just h would you be the commanding genera is chief of staff ?"
There were small laughs, and now Grant leaned forward, took off his hat, said, "Good evening, Sergeant. I am entirely dependent on your professionalism as a soldier. I can offer little except that you recognize me. This is understandably... an unusual situation."
The sergeant moved closer, glanced at the man with the lantern, who raised the light higher. Grant leaned over farther, thought, The light, catch the shoulder straps, the stars. The sergeant looked him over, then stepped back, looked again at the rebel uniform, said, "And you would be Mr. Campbell."
Campbell nodded, a slight bow. The man saluted Grant now, said to the men around them, "Boys, this here is General Grant. I seen you before, Sir, crossing the Rapidan River. Mr. Campbell, he's another matter. Don't never look the same way twice."
The carbines were lowered, and Grant said, "Thank you, Sergeant. May we have an escort to General Sheridan?"
The man motioned with his hand, and suddenly two horses appeared, their riders climbing up. The sergeant said, "Just follow these boys, Sir. Take you right to him."
The column began to move again, and Grant let out a breath, realized how tense he had been, how easily fate could have made a much different, much more deadly situation.
Porter rode beside him now, said quietly, "Forgive me, Sir, I should have been better prepared."
Grant tried to see him in the dark, said3 "Prepared for what, Colonel?"
"To protect you, Sir. They could have been rebels."
Grant smiled, said, "Mr. Porter, if they had been rebels, we might have been able to spur ourselves around and skedaddle away, and maybe most of us would have made it. If you had done anything to protect me with those fellows back there, we'd be dead. Those carbines are seven-shot repeaters."
Porter said nothing, and now they were moving past long rows of sleeping men, the fading embers of small fires. Men began to stir, and Grant looked out over the ground, could see faces coming out from under blankets, a slow ripple of activity, men coming awake in greater numbers.
One man close by said, "Why, there's the Old Man! Boys, this means business!"
HERMAN HAD BEEN WAITING FOR THEM, CERTAIN THAT GRANT would answer the request. He'd even waited on his own evening meal. Grant had chewed on a small piece of burnt roast beef, watched with a hidden smile as Porter and some of the others gulped down a vast pile of boiled chicken, a slab of fat beef ribs.
Now he was riding through the dark again, held a fresh cigar in his teeth, something he could not do on the long ride. But this time he was with Sheridan, and it was a short ride across a field of tobacco. Beyond the field he could see the lanterns in a cluster, a well-lit hub of activity, horses and men moving around a small cabin. Sheridan dismounted first, and the aides stepped back, almost by instinct, had observed Sheridan's hot temper too many times. Grant dismounted, and they began to recognize him. Salutes went up, small greetings. Sheridan did not answer, moved by them, and Grant followed, moved past a man who held the door open, the dull orange light barely filling the small room. Grant looked down, saw Meade lying flat on a small bed, a white shirt, hatless.
Grant moved quickly, leaned down, said, "General Meade... I heard you were ill."
Meade looked at him with a flash of anger, but held it, clamped it down, said, "Of course... yes. I am ill. I'm flat on my back, while out there Lee's army is waiting for us."
Sheridan grunted, said, "Sir, that's why... Sir, no, I do not believe General Lee is waiting for us at all." He looked around the room.
"A map... where's a map?"
Meade raised an arm, pointed toward a small desk, and an aide moved that way, but Sheridan was faster, pushed past the man, grabbed the paper, held it up in the lamplight, said, "Turn up the lamp, I can't see.
The aide looked at Meade, and Meade closed his eyes, said weakly, "Fine. Turn up the damned light." Grant was still looking at Meade, sweat on his brow, the face drawn, ghostly. He said, "No. We can use this light. Lay the map out, let's have a look."
Sheridan grunted again, spread the map on the desk, said, "Lee has dug in all around Amelia. He has moved some people out this way, drawn up in a line against us. But he is not going to wait for us. He has to keep moving. General Meade has a different opinion. I will not speak for you, General."
Meade sat up now, a groaning struggle, said, "We should wait for all the troops to get up. The Fifth Corps is facing Lee now. The Sixth and Second should be here) ready to move, by tomorrow."
Sheridan said, "And we may advance toward Amelia 'just in time to see Lee riding away over the next hill."
Grant scanned the map, said, "General Ord will be at Burkeville by tomorrow. There is no way that Lee can use the railroad now. He is cut off from Danville. His only option is to fight... or keep moving. If I was in his place, I would be moving... right now."
He straightened, looked at Meade, who was on his back again, the small piece of strength now gone. Grant said, "General Meade, the cavalry will continue to move to the west. The infantry will divide, moving west and north. I want to cut him off, get in front of him, not just follow him. There is nothing to be gained by preparing an attack at Amelia. The fight will come when he has no choice but to face us."
Meade nodded, said nothing, and Grant knew he was resigned to it, the illness draining the argument out of him.
Sheridan was already moving toward the door, impatient, and Grant said, "General Sheridan, may I assume you intend to move your people... early?"
Sheridan saluted, said, "Sir... with your permission, we are already moving!"
46,. LEE
APRIL 6, 1865 T
HEY HAD FOUND SHERIDAN'S CAVALRY BLOCKING THE ROAD TO Burkeville, but Lee had believed Longstreet's men were strong enough to break through, to push them aside. Danville was becoming more important now than merely as the escape route. There was food there, a huge stockpile, and Lee had sent word for the trains to roll north, to bring the rations to the army.
As Longstreet had pushed down toward Jetersville, to drive off the Federal horsemen, he found not just cavalry, but Infantry, the strong lines of the Fifth Corps. Scouts reported the Se
cond Corps was moving to )0111 them, and the Sixth was a short march away. It was clear to Longstreet, and so, to Lee, that the road to Danville was closed. The only line of march was west, the town of Farniville. There the Southside Railroad ran out toward Lynchburg, and Lee had two choices. If they could stay ahead of the Federals, the army could again turn south and try for Danville. Otherwise, they could make use of the last leg of the Southside not in Federal hands, and move the army farther west to Lynchburg.
He had camped near the home of Dick Anderson, another fine old estate that would absorb the effects of the long war. Anderson's wife and children were still there, had prepared as much of a dinner as they could for Lee and his staff the night before.
He had started the army in motion well before dawn, and once it was known that the route would have to be west, there would be no delay, no time to lose. There was still no food for the army; the wagons had come back from their foraging mostly empty. The farmers simply had nothing to give. It was the season for planting, for plowing the new fields, and whatever harvest had been stored from the previous autumn had long been exhausted. A small wagon train had escaped Petersburg, and there was a much larger train that Ewell had put into motion at Richmond, but Lee learned that the Federal cavalry had caught up to both of them, and what was not taken by the enemy had simply been burned.
