The Last Full Measure

by Jeff Shaara

  He rode now toward Longstreet's camp, heard his name, a man calling out, a one man salute, and Lee could not see him, the darkness now deep into the trees. He waved his hat, said aloud, "Rations are at Farniville. You can draw rations at Farmville. Keep moving!"

  There were small voices all around him, surprising him, men he could not see, and now he could hear them moving, footsteps in the road, and the word echoed out through the woods, far behind him on the road: rations!

  APRIL 7, 1865 T

  HE FEDERAL PRESSURE ON GORDON AND MA HONE MADE THEIR crossing of the Appomattox difficult, and Mahone's most important job, to burn the High Bridge before the enemy could seize it, succeeded only halfway. Mahone did set fire to the main bridge, the rail crossing for the Southside, a huge span stretching over a part of the river that was impossible to ford. But the Federal troops came on too quickly, in too much strength, and after a sharp fight, they were able to put out the fire. But worse, what Mahone had failed to do was burn a second bridge, smaller, down below, close to the water. That bridge, designed for wagon traffic, was left undamaged. Humphrey's Second Corps was able to cross immediately, keeping up the pressure behind Gordon and Mahone.

  At Farmville, Longstreet camped his men on the north side of the bridges there, prepared to burn them when the last of the army could move across. But with the Federal Second Corps now on the same side of the river, Lee had to keep moving. Below the river, Federal troops under Ord were approaching fast, and so the rail cars carrying the food could not stay at Farmville, could not risk being captured. St. John had to move them farther west, out of harm's way. Many of Longstreet's men were still lining up for their first rations in five days when the trains suddenly pulled away.

  EE WAS WITH LONGSTREET, PACING NERVOUSLY. HE HADN'T seen Mahone, knew that he and Gordon were doing their best to hold the Federals away In the rear. Longstreet was sitting, leaning against a tree, smoking his small pipe. Lee stopped pacing, listened for big guns, the sounds of a fight. Longstreet's camp wagon was nearby. An aide was unloading a trunk, and it fell open with a loud clatter of metal pans.

  Lee turned, said, "Quiet! I'm trying to hear!" There was complete silence in the camp, all faces turning toward the outburst from Lee. Longstreet leaned forward, motioned the aide away.

  Lee stared as the man slipped past the wagon, then looked at the faces, turning from him now, averting their glances. Lee took off his hat, rubbed his hand slowly over the top of his head, said to Longstreet, "We have done nothing right. They should have burned that bridge. We would... they should have He stopped, the words choked away.

  Longstreet said, "Sir, please, sit down. Here..." He reached for a small camp chair, set it upright.

  Lee moved to the chair and slowly sat down. Resting his arms on his knees, he looked at the ground, then gazed beyond the matted grass, staring deep into some dark place. There was a quiet moment, then he said, "If they were not on this side of the river, we would have escaped."

  Longstreet nodded, said, "We have still escaped. There's nothing west of us. There's a big bunch of those boys south of the river, but they can't come across, not for a long while yet. We move quick, we can make it up to the next station, the rations will be there, and all we have to do is keep those boys behind us from making trouble."

  Lee looked at him, saw a smile, thought, Something is... wrong with him. I have not seen a smile on him since... longer than I can recall. He said, "General Longstreet, your mood puzzles me. We are in a serious predicament here."

  Longstreet tapped the pipe on the tree behind him, lit it slowly, said, "When have we not been in a predicament?"

  Lee was still confused, thought, This is the man whose gloom is legendary, and now... with the enemy hard on us from two sides, he smiles.

  Longstreet saw the look, said, "Sir, we can only do what is in our power. It is still in our power to reach Lynchburg. We might still find an opportunity to reach Danville. If we can keep moving, keep the enemy behind us... Gordon's men are still putting up a fight. These boys here... Yankee cavalry isn't going to stop them. We make it to the next station, feed them, we have a clear shot to Lynchburg. And that will give Sam Grant a problem."

  There were horses, a small group of couriers riding into the camp, eyes searching for Lee. Lee looked up, saw Marshall step forward. One horseman saluted Marshall, said something, then reached down, handed Marshall a piece of paper.

  Marshall turned toward Lee and, hesitating, moved close and held out the paper.

  "Sir," he said, "a message has come through General Mahone's lines, Sir. It is from General Grant."

  Lee took the paper, saw the wax seal, slid his finger slowly under the flap, broke the wax and opened the page. Heread slowly, absorbed the words:

  General: The results of the last week must convince you of the hopelessness of further resistance on the part of the Army of Northern Virginia in this struggle. I feel that it is so, and regard it as my duty to shift from myself the responsibility of any further effusion of blood, by asking you the surrender of that portion of the Confederate States Army known as the Army of Northern Virginia.

  Very Respectfully, Your Obedient Servant, U. S. Grant, Lieutenant-General, Commanding Armies of the United States Lee looked at Longstreet, handed him the paper. Longstreet read it, handed it back, shook his head and said, "Not yet."

  Lee looked up at Marshall.

  "Colonel, bring me the map. I want to see how far we still have to move to reach..." He looked at Longstreet...... the next station, you said, General?"

  Longstreet held the pipe in his mouth, said, "Appomattox."

  47. GRANT

  APRIL 7, 1865

  T WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT, AND HE'D SPENT THE EVENING ON THE

  porch of a hotel, the only one in the small town of Farmville. The army was gathering still, and by now word that Grant was here, with them, had fueled a party, a bonfire, men cheering, singing; men exhausted by a long day's march, but not yet ready to let go of the emotion. It was clear to all of them, whether they had seen the enemy or not, whether they'd had any part in the fight, that this army was moving fast and furiously toward something momentous, something grand and JOYOUS.

  Grant sat on the porch, alongside Rawlins and Edward Ord. Men were still marching by, some coming into the town for the first time. A few were breaking ranks, moving toward the bonfire, some carrying knots of fat pine, lit now into great torches. The men were cheering Grant as they passed the hotel, and the songs were a strange mix of bad voices and disconnected melody, each unit singing something different, the sounds overlapping into a roar of noise. One group now stepped into the light, the odd uniforms of the Zouaves, the red trousers lit by the light of the great fire. They were singing especially loud, "John Brown's body lies a molderin' in the grave... " Rawlins said, "Inspiring! Indeed, inspiring!

  "John Brown's Body' is nearly a hymn to our boys."

  Grant listened for a moment, then said, "Is that a song)), Rawlins seemed surprised, said, "Why, yes, sir. That very song, there.

  "John Brown's Body'... surely you know that one, sir."

  Grant frowned, thought of Julia. The same thing would come from her, the scolding at his ignorance. Grant listened again, shook his head.

  "No, afraid not. I know two songs. One's "Yankee Doodle."

  " He paused, thought a moment, could recall some very poor harmony in a disreputable bar in San Francisco, the indiscreet words still lodged in his memory. He was suddenly embarrassed, glanced at Rawlins, said, "The other one isn't."

  The Zouaves were past now, and the sounds of the great salute were winding down. Grant stood, moved to the porch rail, thought, We should have heard by now. He cannot just... ignore it.

  There were boots behind him, and he heard Porter's voice, "Sir! Look! It's a rebel!"

  Grant looked out into the dark, the dim light of the street beside the hotel. A man came out of the shadows, careful, discreet, saw Grant now, removed his hat. The man moved slowly around the porch, reached
the steps and waited, still cautious. Grant could see what was left of a gray uniform, an officer.

  Rawlins moved to the top of the steps, blocking the man's way, said, "Who are you, Sir? Do you come from General Lee?"

  The man flinched, looked at Rawlins as though expecting to be hit, shook his head.

  "General Lee? Oh, Lord, no. Please forgive me." He looked at the others on the porch, his eyes now focusing on Grant, and he said, "This is... my hotel. I am the proprietor."

  Rawlins made a noise, said, "Is that a fact? You look more like a deserter to me. How did you get through? We have provost guards on all these streets."

  The man smiled now, said, "I grew up here, know my way around. There's a few shortcuts..."

  Grant stepped forward, put a hand on Rawlins's Shoulder, said to the man, "What is your command? Where is your unit?" The man looked at Grant, glanced again at Rawlins, saw Grant's shoulder straps, the rank, said, "Oh, my. Sir, my unit is... gone. There is no command. I didn't see much point in keeping up the fight. I heard there was a mighty lot of you fellows moving through here. I was kinda afraid... what might happen to my place."

  Grant stepped aside, motioned for the man to move up the steps.

  "Welcome home, Sir," he said.

  "We appreciate your courtesy. These are fine accommodations. No harm will come to this place."

  The man seemed more comfortable now, confident, said, "Finest hotel in these parts, Sir. Built it myself."

  He looked past Grant, toward the front door, saw more blue officers in the lobby, men now moving past, saluting Grant. He stepped toward the door, then turned, said to Grant, "Can't rightly recall when it's been this busy..."

  HE STREETS WERE QUIET NOW, THE TROOPS IN CAMP, THE BONfire collapsed into a mound of glowing embers. Grant was still on the porch, where he sat alone. He'd tried to sleep, but it was not to be, not yet, not until he heard something from Lee.

  There was still activity in the hotel, a card game, but the sounds had quieted now, and he heard footsteps, a low voice, "Sir?"

  Grant turned, saw Porter standing in the doorway, lit from behind by the glow of an oil lamp.

  "Come on out, Colonel," he said.

  "Have a seat."

  Porter moved to a chair, sat down, said, "It might not be till tomorrow, Sir. You should get some sleep."

  Grant held a cigar out, looked at the faint glow.

  "By anyone's definition, Robert E. Lee is a gentlemen, and an old soldier. He will respond. I'm guessing he has already responded. It just hasn't reached here yet."

  Porter sat back in the chair, stared at the dying bonfire.

  "Do you think it's over, Sir? Do you think he'll surrender?"

  Two men were riding hard up the street from the east. Grant stood, moved forward, clamped the cigar hard in his teeth, said, "We're about to find out."

  The horsemen moved closer, slowed, and one of them pointed toward the hotel, then both saw Grant. The men approached and dismounted. Grant saw one was an officer, a familiar face.

  The man climbed the steps, saluted, said, "Sir, General Humphreys sends his compliments and wishes me to pass along to you this letter, which was received into our lines earlier tonight."

  Grant said nothing, focused on the paper, reached for it, turned toward the light, scanned the words. He lowered the page, stared into the dark and let out a deep breath.

  Porter moved close, said, "What is it, Sir?" Grant did not look at him, held the paper out, and Porter read it quietly.

  GeneralI have received your note of this day. Though not entertaining the opinion you express on the hopelessness of further resistance on the part of the Army of Northern Virginia, I reciprocate your desire to avoid the useless effusion of blood, and therefore before considering your proposition, ask the terms you will offer on condition of its surrender.

  R. E. Lee, General Porter looked at Grant now, said, "He's asking for terms. Sir, he's asking for terms!"

  Grant looked at the courier now, said, "You men are dismissed. You may remain here, if you like, or return to General Humphreys."

  The man saluted again, said, "Sir, thank you. We will return to our camp.

  The man moved away down the steps, and both men mounted the horses and were quickly gone. Grant moved to the porch railing, id, "Terms... there are no terms." He looked at Porter.

  "They cans al not hold out much longer. This... says nothing. It is no admission of anything." He held his anger, flicked the ash from the cigar.

  "Surely, he doesn't believe he can fight it out. He must think they can get away." He turned now, pointed out toward the west, said quietly, "I want to be sure... get word to General Sheridan. I want our people out there, in front of him. I want Lee's army penned up tight. This matter will be concluded." He looked again at Porter, said, "Those are my terms."

  He felt the first tightening bloom of a headache, took a deep breath, moved toward the door of the hotel, said, "Colonel, tomorrow morning I will respond to... this. Now, I believe I will go to bed."

  APRIL 8, 1865

  To General Robert E. Lee, Commanding, CSA: Your note of last evening, in reply to mine of the same date, asking the conditions on which I will accept the surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia, is just received. In reply I would say that peace being my great desire, there is but one condition I would insist upon-namely, that the men and officers surrendered shall be disqualified for taking up arms against the Government of the United States until properly exchanged. I will meet you, or will designate officers to meet any officers you may name for the same purpose, at any point agreeable to you, for the purpose of arranging definitely the terms upon which the surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia will be received.

  U. S. Grant, Lieutenant-General He rode now north of the river, stayed close to the Second Corps, the tight pursuit of Lee's army. If the response came, it would likely come through those lines, the closest point where the armies met.

  He'd had little sleep, and the headache had grown, erupting like some great black fire behind his eyes, fueled by a tight stranglehold on the back of his neck. He had tried to ride' to keep up with the movement of Humphreys's troops, but the movement of the horse only increased the throbbing in his head. Now he was camped at a farmhouse, could only sit and wait while his army kept up the chase.

  The army was nearly equally divided, the Sixth Corps moving in behind the Second above the river, while down below, Ord's Army of the James was supported by Griffin's Fifth. Sheridan's horsemen were pushing hard, skirmishing all day with Fitz Lee as they moved closer to the most likely place for Lee to entrench. Sheridan focused on Appomattox Court House, where the river narrowed to an easy crossing, where it could no longer protect Lee from the troops below. By nightfall Sheridan's cavalry had reached the edge of the small town, and the scouts could see the great rail cars that waited for Lee's army to arrive.

  RANT WAS STILL AT THE FARMHOUSE, HAD WELCOMED THE kindness of the family there, and his headache had been assaulted by every home remedy anyone in the house, or on his staff, could suggest. He lay on a sofa, stared up at the dark, could still smell the mustard from the compress that had been put on his legs. Outside, it was quiet, the family occupying a small guest house while Grant and his staff used the larger house for the headquarters.

  The headache had been relentless, and he tried closing his eyes, but the pressure inside of him forced them open. He knew there would be no sleep, not while he felt like this. He stared up again, and there was a soft knock at the door. He wanted to yell, to shout, the anger at the intrusion sprouting from the flaming agony in his head. The door opened, a small crack, and he heard a quiet voice. It was Rawlins.

  "Sir? " Grant let out a burst of air, said, "Come in. I'm awake. I'm suffering too much to get any sleep." Rawlins moved in slowly, Porter behind him, with a small candle. Rawlins said, "Sir, we have received a letter from General Lee."

  Grant sat up quickly. Porter set the candle down, and Grant took the paper, held it towar
d the light.

  General: I received at a late hour your note of today. In mine of yesterday I did not intend to propose the surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia, but to ask the terms of your proposition. To be frank, I do not think the emergency has arisen to call for the surrender of this army; but as the restoration of peace should be the sole object of all, I desired to know whether your proposals would lead to that end. I cannot, therefore, meet you with a view to surrender the Army of Northern Virginia; but as far as your proposal may effect the Confederate States forces under my command, and tend to the restoration of peace, I shall be pleased to meet you at io a.m. tomorrow on the old stage road to Richmond, between the picket lines of the two armies.

  R. E. Lee, General Grant lowered the paper, shook his head, let out a long breath.