As my troops approached their position of the morning, I rode up to General Gordon and asked where I should form line of battle. He replied, "Anywhere you choose." Struck by the strangeness of the reply, I asked an explanation, whereupon he informed me that we would be surrendered. I then expressed very forcibly my dissent to being surrendered, and indignantly upbraided him for not giving me notice of such intention, as I could have escaped with my division and joined General Joe Johnston, then in North Carolina. Furthermore, that I should then inform my men of the purpose to surrender, and that whoever desired to escape that calamity could go with me, and galloped off to carry this idea into effect. Before reaching my troops, however, General Gordon overtook me, and placing his hand upon my shoulder, asked me if I were going to desert the army and tarnish my own honor as a soldier and said that it would be a reflection upon General Lee and an indelible disgrace to me, if I, an officer of rank, should escape under a flag of truce, which was then pending. I was in a dilemma and knew not what to do, but finally concluded to say nothing on the subject to my troops.
Upon reaching them, one of the soldiers asked if General Lee had surrendered, and upon my answering that I feared it was a fact that we had been surrendered, he cast away his musket and holding his hands aloft cried in an agonized voice, "Blow, Gabriel, blow! My God, let him blow, I am ready to die!" We then went beyond the creek at Appomattox Court House, stacked arms amid the bitter tears of bronzed veterans, regretting the necessity of capitulation.
Among the incidents ever fresh in my memory of this fatal day to the Confederacy is the remark of a private soldier. When riding up to my old regiment to shake by the hand each comrade who had followed me through four years of suffering, toil, and privation often worse than death, to bid them a final affectionate, and, in many instances, an eternal farewell, a cadaverous, ragged, barefooted man grasped me by the hand, and choking with sobs said, "Good-bye, General; God bless you; we will go home, make three more crops and then try them again." I mention this instance simply to show the spirit, the pluck, and the faith of our men in the justice of our cause, and that they surrendered more to grim famine than to the prowess of our enemies.
That day and the next the terms of surrender were adjusted; the following day our paroles were signed and countersigned, and on Wednesday, April 12, 1865, we stacked our arms in an old field, and each man sought his home as best he might.
The foregoing account of the surrender at Appomattox was written to Major John W. Moore, at his request, November 5, 1879.
It was fit that North Carolina soldiers should have made the last charge; they were first at Bethel. The fight was between the mercantile civilization of the North, Europeanized by immigration and commerce, and the agricultural civilization of the South, Americanized by the necessity of its situation. Being most essentially an agricultural State, least contaminated by communion with the great cities, and least corrupted by the greed of trade and the favoritism of trade's ill-gotten legislation, North Carolina was the centre of the rebellion against the aggressions of the North, aggressions which furthered the European policy of consolidating our government and destroying the equality, first of the States, and then of individuals. Democracy is not now a menace to kingcraft across the Atlantic. Europe has won its fight. Its policy is now to secure the fruits of its victory by treaties and alliances.
It is no wonder that North Carolina resorted to arms with such decent caution and fought with such desperate valor—the stakes were great—she knew the meaning of the fight. If the South's statesmen had been equal to her warriors there would have been no war, because she would have been prepared for it—every State would have had a place to manufacture the best ships and arms. Her statesmen were great constitutional lawyers—but great lawyers and orators are not necessarily statesmen.
General Cox's account of "the last charge" differs in some particulars from that of General Grimes. Both statements appear together in Moore's History of North Carolina, to which the interested reader may refer.