I reached Petersburg on the evening of March 24, 1865.
The ride was a gay comedy—but a tragedy was about to follow it. On the very next morning, in the gray March dawn, Lee was going to strike his last great blow at Grant. A column under Gordon, that brave of braves, was going to be hurled headlong against Hare’s Hill, the enemy’s centre, just below Petersburg.
That design was evidently the result of supreme audacity, or of despair. In either case it indicated the terrible character of the crisis. There could be no two opinions upon that point. Lee aimed at nothing less than to cut General Grant’s army in two—to root himself doggedly in the very centre of his enemies, and to force General Grant to draw back the entire left wing of his army, or run the risk, by holding his position, to have it destroyed.
Was Lee’s motive to open the way for his retreat over the Boydton road toward Danville? I know not. Military critics say so, and it is certain that, a month before, he had endeavored to retreat. The government had checked him, then, but now, that step was plainly the only one left. He might effect his retreat by forcing Grant to draw in his left wing for the support of his centre. Lee could then retire from Hare’s Hill; make a rapid march westward; push for North Carolina; and joining his forces with those of Johnston, continue the war in the Gulf States, falling back if necessary to Texas.
I have always thought that this was his design, but I was much too obscure a personage to gain any personal knowledge of his plans. It is certain that he designed one of two things—either to open the path for his retreat, or to relieve his right wing toward Five Forks, which was bending under the immense pressure upon it. Either motive was that of a good soldier—and what seemed wild audacity was sound common sense.
For the rest, there was little else to do. Some change in the aspect of things was vitally necessary. Grant had been re-enforced by a large portion of Sherman’s army, and the Federal troops in front of Lee now numbered about one hundred and fifty thousand. As Lee’s force, all told, on his entire line, was only about forty thousand, the rupture of the far-stretching defences, at some point, seemed only a question of time. And scarcely that. Rather, a question of the moment selected by Grant for his great blow.
At the end of March the hour of decisive struggle was plainly at hand. The wind had dried the roads; artillery could move; the Federal left was nearly in sight of the Southside road; one spring, and General Grant could lay hold on that great war-artery, and then nothing would be left to Lee but retreat or surrender.
Such was the condition of things at Petersburg, in these last days of March. Grant was ready with his one hundred and fifty thousand infantry to strike Lee’s forty thousand. Sheridan was ready with his twelve thousand superbly mounted cavalry, to hurl himself against the two thousand half-armed horsemen, on starved and broken-down animals, under command of General Fitz Lee. A child could have told the result. The idea of resistance, with any hope, in the defences, any longer, was a chimera. Lee was a great soldier—history contains few greater. The army of Northern Virginia was brave—the annals of the world show none braver. But there was one thing which neither great generalship, or supreme courage could effect. Opposed by one hundred and fifty thousand well-fed troops, with every munition of war, forty thousand starving men, defending a line of forty miles, must in the end meet capture or destruction.
The country did not see it, but General Lee did. The civilians—the brave ones—had a superstitious confidence in the great commander and his old army. It had repulsed the enemy so uninterruptedly, that the unskilled people believed it invincible. Lee had foiled Grant so regularly that he was looked upon as the very God of Victory. Defeat could not come to him. Glory would ever follow his steps. On the banners of the old army of Northern Virginia, led by Lee, the eagles of victory would still, perch, screaming defiance, and untamed to the end.
While the civilians were saying this, Lee was preparing to retreat. Nothing blinded that clear vision—the eyes of the great chief pierced every mist. He saw the blow coming—the shadow of the Grant hammer as the weapon was lifted, ran before—on the 25th of March Lee’s rapier made it last lunge. But when his adversary recoiled to avoid it, it was Lee who was going to retreat.