CHAPTER XLVI
The miracle which Toombs feared came to pass. In the blackest hour of the Lincoln administration, his own party despaired of his election. The National Republican Committee came to Washington and demanded that he withdraw from the ticket and allow them to name a candidate who might have a chance against General McClellan and his peace platform.
And then it happened.
Sherman suddenly took Atlanta and swung his legions toward the sea. A black pall of smoke marked his trail. The North leaped once more with the elemental impulse. A wave of war enthusiasm swept Lincoln back into the White House. And a new line of blue soldiers streamed to Grant's front.
The ragged men in gray were living on parched corn. Grant edged his blue legions farther and farther southward until he saw the end of the mortal trenches Lee's genius had built. The lion sprang on his exposed flank and Petersburg was doomed.
The Southern Commander sent his fated message to Richmond that he must uncover the Capital of the Confederacy, and staggered out of his trenches to attempt a union of forces with Johnston's army in North Carolina.
Grant's host were on his heels, his guns thundering, his cavalry destroying.
A negro regiment entered Richmond as the flames of the burning city licked the skies.
Lee paused at Appomattox to await the coming of his provision train. His headquarters were fixed beneath an apple tree in full bloom.
He bent anxiously over a field map with his Adjutant. His face was clouded with deep anxiety.
"Why doesn't Gordon report?" he cried. "We've sent three couriers. They haven't returned. Grant has not only closed the road to Lynchburg, he has pushed a wedge into our lines and cut Gordon off. If he has, we're in a trap—"
"It couldn't have happened in an hour!" Taylor protested.
"Order Fitzhugh Lee to concentrate every horse for Gordon's support and call in Alexander for a conference."
Taylor hastened to execute the command and Lee sat down under the flower-draped tree.
Sam approached bearing a tray.
"De coffee's all ready, Marse Robert—'ceptin' dey ain't no coffee in it. Does ye want a cup? Hit's good, hot black water, sah!"
Lee's eyes were not lifted.
"No, Sam, thank you."
The faithful negro shook his head and walked back to his sorry kitchen.
Taylor handed his order to a dust-covered courier.
"Take this to Fitz Lee."
The courier scratched his head.
"I don't know General Fitz Lee, sir."
"The devil you don't. What division are you from?"
"Dunno, sir. Been cut to pieces so many times and changed commanders so much I dunno who the hell I belong to—"
"How'd you get here?"
"Detailed for the day."
"You know General John B. Gordon?"
The dusty figure stiffened.
"I'm from Georgia."
"Take this to him."
Taylor handed the man his order as the thunder of a line of artillery opened on the left.
"Which way is General Gordon?" the courier asked.
"That's what I want to know. Get to him. Follow the line of that firing. You'll find him where it's hottest. Get back here quick if you have to kill your horse."
Sam came back with his tray.
"I got yo' breakfus' an' dinner both now, Marse Robert."
Lee looked up with a smile.
"Too tired now. Eat it for me, Sam—"
Sam turned quickly.
"Yassah. I do de bes' I kin fur ye."
As Sam went back to the kitchen he motioned to a ragged soldier who stood with his wife and little girl gazing at the General.
"Dar he is. Go right up an' tell him."
Sweeney approached Lee timidly. The wife and girl hung back.
He tried to bow and salute at the same time.
"Excuse me for coming, General Lee, but my company's halted there in the woods. You've stopped in a few yards of my house, sir. Won't you come in and make it your headquarters?"
"No, my good friend. I won't disturb your home."
The wife edged near.
"It's no trouble at all, sir. We'd be so proud to have you."
"Thank you. I always use my tent, Madame. I'll not be here long."
"Please come, sir!" the man urged.
Lee studied his face.
"Haven't I seen you before, my friend?"
"Yes, sir. I'm the man who brought the news that General Stuart had fallen at Yellow Tavern."
Lee grasped his hand.
"Oh, I remember. You're Sweeney—Sweeney whose banjo he loved so well.
And this is your wife and little girl?"
"Yes, sir," Mrs. Sweeney answered.
The Commander pressed her hand cordially.
"I'm glad to know you, Mrs. Sweeney. Your husband's music was a great joy to General Stuart."
The little girl handed him a bunch of violets. He stooped, kissed her and took her in his arms.
"You'd like your papa to come back home from the war and stay with you always, wouldn't you, dear?"
"Yes, sir," she breathed.
"Maybe he will, soon."
"You see, General," Sweeney said, "when my Chief fell, I threw my banjo away and got a musket."
"If I only had Stuart here to-day!" Lee sighed.
"He'd cut his way through, sir, with a shout and a laugh," Sweeney boasted.
A courier handed Lee a dispatch and Sweeney edged away. The Commander read the message with a frown and crumpled the paper in his hand. The wagons at Appomattox had been cut to pieces. His army had nothing to eat. They had been hungry for two days and nights.
"It's more than flesh can bear, Taylor—and yet listen to those guns! They're still fighting this morning. Fighting like tigers. Grant's closing in with a hundred thousand men. Unless Gordon breaks through within an hour—he's got us—"
Lee gazed toward the sound of the guns on the left. His face was calm but his carriage was no longer quite erect. The agony of sleepless nights had plowed furrows in his forehead. His eyes were red. His cheeks were sunken and haggard. His face was colorless. And yet he was calmly deliberate in every movement.
An old man, flushed with excitement, staggered up to him.
Lee started.
"Ruffin—you here?"
"General Lee," he began, "will you hear me for just one moment?"
"Certainly."
Lee sprang to his feet.
"But how did you get into my lines—I thought I was surrounded?"
"I came out of Richmond with General Alexander's rear guard, sir, six days ago."
"Oh, I see."
"Ten years ago, General Lee, in your house, I predicted this war. Last week I saw the city in flames and I hope to God every house was in ashes before that regiment of negro cavalry galloped through its streets."
"I trust not, Ruffin. I left my wife and children there."
"I hope they're safe, sir."
"They're in God's hands."
A courier handed Lee a dispatch which he read aloud.
"President Davis has been forced to flee from Danville and all communication with him has been cut."
"General Lee," Ruffin cried excitedly, "this country is now in your hands."
"What would you have me do?"
"Fight until the last city is in ashes and the last man falls in his tracks. Fools at your headquarters have been talking for two days of surrender. It can't be done. It can't be done. If you surrender do you know what will happen?"
"I've tried to think."
"I'll tell you, sir. Thaddeus Stevens, the Radical Leader of Congress, has already prepared the bill to take the ballot from the Southern white man and give it to the negro. The property of the whites he proposed to confiscate and give to their slaves. He will clothe the negro with all power and set him to rule over his former masters."
Lee answered roughly.
"Nonsense, Ruffin. I am better informed. Senator Washburn, Mr. Lincoln's spokesman, entered Richmond with the Federal army. He says that the President will remove the negro troops from the United States as soon as peace is declared. He has a bill in Congress to colonize the negro race."
"Stevens is the master of Congress."
"If the North wins, Lincoln will be the master of Congress. We need fear no scheme of insane vengeance."
Lee took from Taylor two despatches.
"General Mahone has taken a thousand prisoners—"
"Glory to God!" Ruffin shouted. "Such men don't know how to surrender!"
"And our cavalry has captured. General Gregg and a squadron of his men—"
"Surrender!" the old man roared. "They'll never surrender, sir, unless you say so. Our wives, our daughters, our children, our homes, our cause, our lives, are in your hands. For God's sake, don't listen to fools. Don't give up, General Lee—don't—"
General Alexander sprang from his horse and approached his Commander.
Lee spoke in low, strained tones.
"I'm afraid we're caught."
He turned to the old man.
"Excuse me, Ruffin, I must confer with General Alexander."
Ruffin's reply came feebly.
"With your permission I will—stay—at—your headquarters for a little while."
"Certainly."
Taylor led the old man toward his baggage wagon.
"Come with me, sir. I'll find you a cot."
"Thank you. Thank you." His eyes were dim and he walked stumblingly. "Surrender, Taylor! Surrender? Why, there's no such word—there's no such word—"
Lee and Alexander moved down to the little field table.
"We must decide," the Commander began, "what to do in case Gordon can't break through. How many guns in your command?"
"More than forty, sir. We've just captured a section of Federal artillery in perfect order."
"Forty guns! And Grant is circling us with five hundred—"
"We have fought big odds before. We have ammunition. The artillery has done little on this retreat. They're eager for a fight, if you wish to give battle."
"I can rally but eight thousand men for a final charge. They are tired and hungry. What have we got to do?"
"This means but one thing, then—"
"Well, sir?"
"Order the army to scatter—each man for himself. They can slip through the brush to-night like quail, and reach Johnston's army."
"You think this best?"
"It's the only thing to do, sir. Surrender—never. Scatter. And when Grant closes in to-morrow his hands will be empty. He'll find a few broken guns and wagons. Our men will be safe beyond his lines and ready to fight again."
"That's the plan!" Taylor joined.
"We can beat Grant that way, General. The Confederacy may win by delay. At least by delay we can give the State Governments time to make their own terms as States. If you surrender, it's all over."
"I do not think the North will acknowledge the sovereignty of the States at this late day."
"It is reported that Lincoln has offered to accept the surrender of
States and make terms—"
"This would, of course," Lee slowly answered, "prolong the war as long as one held out—"
"And don't forget, sir," Alexander urged stoutly, "that the single State of Texas is three times larger than France. She has countless head of cattle and horses on her plains. She can equip armies. Her warlike sons, with you to lead them, would laugh at conquest for the next ten years. The territory of the South is too vast to be held except at a cost the North cannot afford to pay—"
"Armies may march across it," Taylor interrupted, "a million soldiers could not hold it unless you surrender!"
"Guerrilla warfare is a desperate resort," Lee answered sadly.
"There are things worse," Alexander cried passionately. "This army is ready to die to a man before we will submit to unconditional surrender. The men who have fought under you for these three tragic years have the right to demand that you spare us this shame!"
"General Grant will not ask unconditional surrender. I have been in correspondence with him for two days. He has already put his terms in writing. They are generous. All officers may retain their swords and every horse go home for the spring plowing. He merely requires our parole not to take up arms again."
"He would offer no such terms," Alexander argued, "unless he knew you yet had a chance to win—"
Lee waved his hand.
"Our only chance is to continue the struggle by a fierce guerrilla war—"
"For God's sake, let's do it, sir!"
"Can we," the calm voice went on, "as Christian soldiers, choose such a course? We've fought bravely for what we believed to be right. If I enter a guerrilla struggle, what will be the result? Years of bloody savagery. Our own men, demoralized by war, would supply their wants by violence and plunder. I could not control them. And so raid and counter-raid. Houses pillaged and burned by friend and foe. Crops destroyed. All industry paralyzed. Women violated. We might force the Federal Government at last to make some sort of compromise. But at what a cost—what a cost!"
"You can control our men," Alexander maintained. "Your name is magic.
The South will obey you."
Lee gazed earnestly into the face of his gallant young Commander of
Artillery and said:
"If I wield such power over our people, is it not a sacred trust? Is it not my duty now to use it for their healing, and not their ruin?"
General John B. Gordon suddenly rode up and sprang from his horse.
Lee eagerly turned.
"General Gordon—you have cut through?"
"I have secured a temporary truce to report to you in person, I have fought my corps to a frazzle. The road is still blocked and I cannot move."
"What is your advice?" Lee asked.
"Your decision settles it, sir."
A courier plunged toward the group on a foaming horse.
"Fitzhugh Lee's cavalry's broken through!" he shouted. "The way's opened. The whole army can pass!"
"I don't believe it," Gordon growled.
"It's too good to be true," Taylor said.
"It's true!" Alexander exclaimed, "of course it's true!"
"You come from Longstreet?" Lee inquired.
"Yes, sir. He asks instructions."
"Tell him to use his discretion. He's on the spot."
The courier wheeled and rode back as the crash of a musket rang out beside the baggage wagon.
"What's that?" Taylor asked sharply.
"It can't be an attack," Gordon wondered. "A truce is in force."
Sam rushed to Lee.
"Hit's Marse Ruffin, sah," he whispered. "He put de muzzle er de gun in his mouf an' done blow his own head clean off!"
"See to him, Taylor," Lee ordered. "The old ones will quit, I'm afraid."
A courier rode up and handed him another dispatch. He read it slowly.
"Fitzhugh Lee says the message was a mistake, the road is still blocked.
Only a company of raiders broke through."
"It's too bad," Gordon said.
"It's hell," Alexander groaned. "Let's scatter, sir! It's the only way.
Issue the order at once—"
A sentinel saluted.
"Colonel Babcock, aide to General U.S. Grant, has come for your answer, sir."
All eyes were fixed on Lee.
"Tell Babcock I'll see him in a moment."
An ominous silence fell. Lee lifted his head and spoke firmly.
"We've played our parts, gentlemen, in a hopeless tragedy, pitiful, terrible. At least eight hundred thousand of our noblest sons are dead and mangled. A million more will die of poverty and disease. Every issue could have been settled and better settled without the loss of a drop of blood. The slaves are freed by an accident. An accident of war's necessity—not on principle. The manner of their sudden emancipation, unless they are removed, will bring a calamity more appalling than the war itself. It must create a Race Problem destined to grow each day more threatening and insoluble. Yet if I had to live it all over again I could only do exactly what I have done—"
He paused.
"And now I'll go at once to General Grant."
He took two steps to cross the stile over the fence, and turned as a cry of pain burst from Alexander's lips. He sank to a seat, bowed his face in his hands and groaned:
"Oh, my God, I can't believe it! I can't believe it. After all these years of blood. I can't believe it—my God—to think that this is the end!"
"I know, General Alexander," Lee spoke gently, "that my surrender means the end. It has come and we must face it. We must accept the results in good faith and turn our faces toward the east. Yesterday is dead. To-morrow is ours—"
His voice softened.
"I don't mind telling you now, that I had rather die a thousand deaths than go to General Grant. Dying is the easiest thing that I could do at this moment. I could ride out front along the lines for five minutes and it would be all over. But the men who know how to die must do harder things. I call you, sir, to this battle grimmer than death—to this nobler task—we've got to live now!"
Alexander slowly rose with Gordon and both men saluted.
Within an hour he was returning from the meeting with his brave and generous conqueror. A loud cheer rang over the Confederate lines.
"It's Lee returning along the road crowded with his men," Gordon explained.
Another cheer echoed through the forests.
Gordon smiled.
"Alexander the Great, when he conquered a world, never got the tribute which Lee is receiving from those men. There's not one in their ranks who wouldn't die for him."
Louder and louder rolled the cheers mingled now with the pet name his soldiers loved.
"Marse Robert! Marse Robert!"
Alexander's eyes flashed.
"The hour of his surrender, the supreme triumph of his life."
Lee rode slowly into view on Traveler's gray back. The men were crowding close. They cried softly. They touched his saddle, his horse and tried to reach his hands.
He lifted his right arm over their heads and they were still.
"My heart's too full for speech, my men. I have done for you all that was in my power. You have done your duty. We leave the rest to God. Go quietly to your homes now and work to build up our ruined country. Obey the laws and be as good citizens as you have been soldiers. I'm going to try to do this. Will you help me?"
"That we will!"
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Goodbye."
"Goodbye, Marse Robert!"
Grizzled veterans were sobbing like children.
The war had ended—the most futile and ferocious of human follies. When it shall cease on earth at last, then, and not until then, will the soul of man leap to its final triumph, for the energy of the universe will flow through the fingers of workmen, artists, authors, inventors and healers. On this issue the saving of a world awaits the word of the mothers of men.