The Army of Northern Virginia had surrendered! Strange,
incredible announcement!
The effect which it produced upon the troops is hard to
describe. They seemed to be stupefied and wholly unable to
realize the idea. For Lee, the invincible, to yield up his sword
was an incredible thing; and when the troops could no longer
have any doubt, men who had fought in twenty battles, and faced
death with unshrinking nerve, cried like children. To yield is
a terrible thing—a bitter humiliation; and if the private soldiers
felt it so keenly, we may imagine the feelings of the
leader who was thus called upon to write that word “Surrender”
at the end of so great a career. He had said once
that he “intended for himself to die sword in hand;” but now
not even this was permitted him. He must sacrifice his men
or surrender, and he decided without difficulty or hesitation.
If there are any poor creatures so mean as to chuckle at this
spectacle of a great man letting fall the sword which has never
been stained by bad faith or dishonour, they can indulge their
merriment. The men who had fought the illustrious leader
upon many battle-fields—who had given and taken hard blows
in the struggle—did not laugh that day.
The scenes which took place between General Lee and his
men were indescribably pathetic. I shall not speak of them,
except to say that the great heart of the soldier seemed moved
to its depths. He who had so long looked unmoved upon
good fortune and bad, and kept, in the midst of disaster and
impending ruin, the equanimity of a great and powerful soul,
now shed tears like a child.
“I have done what I thought was best for you,” he said to
the men. “My heart is too full to speak; but I wish you all
health and happiness.”
It may be asked why I have omitted from my sketch the
scene of surrender. There was no such scene, except afterwards
when the troops stacked arms and marched off. The
real surrender was an event which was felt, not seen. It was
nothing apparently; the mere appearance of a Federal column
waving a white flag, and halting on a distant hill. But the
tragic event was read in the faces of all. No guns in position
with that column so near; no line of battle; no preparations
for action! A dreamy, memorial sadness seemed to descend
through the April air and change the scene. Silence so deep
that the rustle of the leaves could be heard—and Longstreet's
veterans, who had steadily advanced to attack, moved back
like mourners. There was nothing visible in front but that
distant column, stationary behind its white flag. No band
played, no cheer was heard; the feelings of the Soutern
troops were spared; but there were many who wanted to die
then.
This retreat was a terrible episode of military life, unlike any
which the present writer ever before saw; but he does not
regret having borne his part in its hardships, its sufferings, and
its humiliations. He is glad to have seen the struggle out
under Lee, and to have shared his fate. The greatness and
nobility of soul which characterize this soldier were all shown
conspicuously in that short week succeeding the evacuation of
Petersburg. He had done his best, and accepted his fate with
manly courage, and that erect brow which dares destiny to do
her worst; or rather, let us say, he had bowed submissively to
the decree of that God in whom he had ever placed his reliance.
Lee, the victor upon many hard-fought fields, was a great
figure; but he is no less grand in defeat, poverty, and adversity.
Misfortune crowns a man in the eyes of his contemporaries and
in history; and the South is prouder of Lee to-day, and loves
him more, than in his most splendid hours of victory.
John esten cooke.
Virginia, June, 1865.
