Never Call Retreat

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Richmond, Virginia The Confederate Capitol

September 10, 1863

Gen. Robert E. Lee dismounted from Traveler, returning the salute of the men lined up in division strength to either side of the road. He was dressed in his formal uniform, sword at his side. The men saluting him were a mixture of troops from several of his old divisions, mostly Virginian boys.

Out on the front lawn before the old state legislature building of Virginia, now the capitol building of the Confederacy, thousands of civilians had gathered, and an ovation went up at the sight of him walking up the steps.

Many of his old comrades were already waiting for him, Pete Longstreet, A. P. Hill, who seemed, at the moment, to be recovering from the illness that had taken him out of the last campaign, and Judah Benjamin.

Judah stepped forward to shake his hand. "Did he do it?" Judah asked. "You mean the president?" "Yes, of course I mean the president." "Yes, he did. And I think you know what I shall say now." Lee walked into the legislative hall, which was packed to overflowing with members of the Confederate Congress and the Senate. A ripple of applause broke out at the sight of him and turned into a standing ovation. He said nothing, merely nodding and stepping to one side of the door.

There was one person still missing.

Several minutes passed in silence until again there was cheering outside.

The sergeant at arms came to attention and banged his staff on the floor.

"Honorable members of Congress. The president of the Confederate States of America."

Jefferson Davis walked in, and after a brief applause the room fell silent. The tension was electric as the members of Congress looked from Davis to Lee and back to Davis, wondering what had transpired in their meeting of an hour ago. Not just Richmond, but the entire South was waiting, citizens as far off as Savannah, Mobile, beleaguered Atlanta, standing before telegraph stations.

The Speaker of the House took the podium and called for order and then without flourish or ceremony simply announced, "Gen. Robert E. Lee."

Lee took a deep breath, looked over at Judah, who nodded, and walked up to the podium, turned, and faced his audience.

"President Davis," General Lee began, nodding toward President Jefferson Davis, sitting in the back of the room, "members of the Congress of the Confederacy and members of the president's cabinet, fellow citizens.

"I have come here to report on the military situation of our Confederacy. I speak not as a politician but as a military man. My facts are the facts of war, not the hopes of politics and civilian speeches."

The crowd began to straighten up and watch carefully at these unexpected words and the sober, indeed somber, tone of Lee's words.

He paused for a moment.

"This morning I met with President Davis to discuss those facts. As a serving military officer I am honor bound to obey the orders of the commander in chief."

Again a pause and he lowered his head, then, realizing that what he had to say required him to look Davis straight in. the eye, he stiffened, features grave.

"But this morning I have refused the orders of President Davis and have no recourse but to resign from the service of the Confederacy."

Davis, red-faced, glared at him.

Lee knew the gesture was melodramatic, but Judah and Pete Longstreet had both told him he had to do this symbolic move to reinforce his point. He stepped back a foot from the podium, drew out his sword, and laid it upon the podium.

"I resign from service and shall return to private life."

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then the audience erupted. Some cheered, but there was also cries of "No, never!" and even a few who cried, 'Traitor!"

He waited for the audience to fall silent, obviously not yet done speaking.

"I shall speak to you now, not as a general, but as a private citizen and shall say what I could not say before when I still carried a sword by my side pledged to this government."

The room fell into a tomblike silence.

"This morning I met with President Davis and offered my formal report on the surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia and the signed agreement between myself and General Grant.

"President Davis ordered me to violate the terms of that surrender."

There was a low murmuring in the room. All knew what the issue was, and now they would hear of it directly from Lee.

"The president ordered me to violate the terms of parole and return myself and all my troops to active service. He stated that President Lincoln had violated the rules of war by the ending of the exchange of prisoners and therefore I could break the oath I gave to General Grant.

"I cannot, I will not, accept that. I signed a fair and generous agreement with General Grant with full knowledge of the terms. To order me to go back on my word is a violation of a code of honor that has guided my entire life.

"I have resigned. I suggest to all my fellow officers who were with me at the surrender to do the same. I shall inform my gallant and honorable men in the ranks, who stand arrayed outside this building, to refuse any order to return to the ranks as well." 'Traitor!"

It was a lone voice, a congressman from South Carolina, and several joined in, but those around the protesters shouted for silence.

"With my refusal and that of my officers and men to violate a sacred oath, given to an honorable foe, the simple fact now confronts you, the civilian government, that we no longer have the military capacity to stop the Union army."

The crowd gasped and men began to fidget in their seats. Some of the hotheads began to say something but realized this was General Lee speaking, and their respect for him stilled their voices.

"General Grant and President Lincoln"-at the very sound of his name the room turned frigid-"have both treated the Army of Northern Virginia with honor and with dignity."

To the restive members of the audience he interjected, "I was there, gentlemen. I am reporting on facts, not wishes; events, not fantasies."

He went on. "As I just stated, this morning President Davis ordered me to take the field once again to save our capital. I cannot.

"As a matter of honor I have given my word before God that I would accept parole and understood when I accepted it that I would not be exchanged and therefore am out of the war.

"I gave my word for the entire Army of Northern Virginia serving with me.

"Now let me address the second issue, which is simply that of practicality and reality. I surrendered, and now urge this entire government to surrender, because to not do so will guarantee the needless killing of thousands of our young men in a situation in which we have no hope of winning against overwhelming Union forces."

"Hell, no!" someone shouted. "We'll fight the damn Yankees to the death."

Lee's features reddened and he stared at the senator who had challenged him.

"Whose death? I have seen tens of thousands die. In war, always it is the old men such as we who create it, but it is the young who must do the dying."

"How dare you, sir," came the reply.

"I dare because I must," Lee retorted. "There is no Confederate army capable of defending Richmond. We lost our artillery and our ammunition trains north of the Potomac. There is no possibility of stopping General Grant and his forces. President Lincoln offered us an armistice of thirty days. Seven of those days have now passed, and I tell you this without embellishment. On October 3, if we do not surrender, Grant will cross the Rappahannock in force, and Sherman will resume his attack on Atlanta… and devastation will follow.

"Grant will lay waste the state of Virginia and then move across the Carolinas until he meets with General Sherman. Between them they will burn every barn, lay waste every field, and tear up every town, destroy every mill, every mile of railroad track, and they will leave utter ruin in their wake. Those who wish to wage war in these circumstances will find themselves fleeing across a wilderness of destruction.

"So far this war has been fought with a certain degree of civility. The patience of our opponents is at an end. If we defy the truth that is before us now, we shall reap a terrible whirlwind that will scar our nation for generations to come.

"And hundreds of thousands more will die "

As he described the apocalyptic scene there was silence.

"As a man of honor and a man of military training I cannot support or condone such a future for my state.

"You gentlemen are politicians. You have every right to reach a different conclusion than a military man. However, neither I nor any member of the Army of Northern Virginia who is loyal to our good name, to our honor, and to my given word will break that word.

"Gentlemen, I beg of you, as a simple citizen, setting aside my former military position, the war is over, the cause is ended. Let us save our families, our young men, and our land from inevitable devastation. Let us end with honor that which we began with honor. I can do no less."

He paused and lowered his head.

"I urge you this day to accept and honor the terms offered by President Abraham Lincoln, terms carried back from Maryland by Secretary Judah Benjamin. At this very moment copies of those terms are being printed up and distributed not just here in Richmond but across the South."

He looked at Judah who nodded and motioned to several boys who had come in carrying bundles of paper, word-for-word reprints of the letter from Lincoln, given to Judah by Elihu Washburne.

Lee waited for several minutes as the papers were distributed.

'This is a violation of confidentiality between myself and the secretary of state."

It was President Davis, who throughout Lee's speech had remained silent.

Lee looked over at the Speaker of the House, who came to his feet.

'The chair still recognizes the general," he paused. "Mr. Robert E. Lee, Mr. President. He still has the floor."

Davis, fuming, turned and walked out of the room.

Senators and congressmen snatched up copies of the letter, some sat down, reading in silence, a few crumpled the papers up and threw them to the floor, several stormed out of the room after President Davis, one of them turning and shouting that all who remained and listened were cowards.

But the vast majority stayed, read, and looked up at Lee.

"The terms are just, fair, and liberal," Lee said as he resumed. "Rarely in the annals of history has such an offer been made to end an internal rebellion, with the victor extending his hand in a gesture of peace and reconciliation. It is an offer imbued with Christian charity, and I pray that you accept it."

He paused, again scanning the room, looking at each of the men gazing up at him. The features of many had softened, more than a few were in tears, some sat woodenly, in shock, as the reality of what they confronted was put before them.

"I believe I have said enough," Lee said. "I suggest, gentlemen, that when I yield the floor, you recognize Mr. Judah Benjamin, who sat by my side during the surrender negotiations and will discuss the details. I know what he will say, and I urge you to listen to him.

"But before I leave, I ask but this. Look out the windows of this building. Gathered outside are the men who were once the proud Army of Northern Virginia. They have fought with honor across two years and won great victories and have now suffered a final defeat. But for each one who stands there, how many are vacant from the ranks? How many of our sons, our comrades, our friends are perhaps gathered here only in spirit."

He felt as if his voice was about to break. He took a deep breath and went on.

"Jackson, who fell at Chancellorsville, so many who rest in unmarked graves, so many who will never return home. Some might now say that we must shed more blood, otherwise their sacrifice would be in vain."

Lee shook his head.

'Thus it is always said across history, and yet never have we heard the dead themselves speak, telling us what they would want. Would they want more blood poured upon their graves as atonement? I think not. I believe, instead, it would be their voices that would be the loudest, urging us not to waste the blood of one more young man for a cause that is now lost. Let the dead who fought for this cause rest in honored peace. Let the living who survived…"

And now his voice did come close to breaking.

"Let the living go home to the waiting embraces of their loved ones. Let them go home with heads high, knowing they are men of honor, whose former foes wish now to extend the hand of friendship and peace.

"My friends, across two years we have prayed to God for guidance and victory. Our opponents have done the same. There is a terrible irony in that, for both sides to pray to the same Prince of Peace for the destruction of the other. The prayers of neither side have been answered fully. Yet, is it not evident that the will of God is revealed? For whatever reason, he has judged against us. We have prayed to him with humility, as men of honor, and that honor is intact.

"I believe firmly, that to continue the struggle now is to turn against God's will, and in so doing, we shall face a terrible judgment."

He lowered his head in the silent room.

"Gentlemen, may the blessing of the Almighty be upon you and guide you this day. I shall now return to private life. Good day."

He stepped down from the podium and with head high walked out of the room. As he started to leave, Pete Longstreet came forward, followed by other officers, and without comment or fanfare, they drew their swords, laid them at the foot of the lectern, and followed their general out of the room.

As he stepped out onto the steps of the capitol his men, his gallant men, were drawn up in ranks, coming to attention, saluting.

"We're with you, General!" someone shouted, and a wild cheer, the rebel yell went up, sending a chill down his spine.

How many times, dear God, how many times did I hear that yell, their going forward, colors at the fore, that wild cheer that signaled victory.

He waited, the cheer dying down, something in his demeanor commanding silence.

Behind him the doors to the capitol were open and he could hear the speaker pounding his gavel. "The chair recognizes the Honorable Judah Benjamin."

Before him was a sea of upturned faces.

"My comrades," he began, then paused, "my friends…" No one spoke. All were silent.

"After two years of arduous service, marked by unsurpassed courage and fortitude, the armies of the Confederacy must now yield to overwhelming numbers and material. We must humbly, and yet honorably, yield as well to the will of God. The war is over. Disband and go home. May you be as good citizens of the United States of America as you have been soldiers of the Confederacy. That is my last order to you. Farewell."

Mounting Traveler, he rode past their silent ranks. One by one men reached out to touch him as he passed, some saluted, some stood silent, hats clenched in hands. As he looked into their eyes he was filled not with sadness, but with hope. He could see in the eyes of so many, not anguish, but a dreamlike realization… they were alive… they had outlived the nightmare… they were going home, home to families, home to farms not ravaged by war, home to waiting children, parents, and wives. They were going home.

The war was over.

Frederick, Maryland November 19, 1863

After the long two-hour speech by Edward Everett, formally dedicating the cemetery at Frederick, a band.was now playing a patriotic air.

For Ulysses S. Grant all music was an annoyance. He had a tin ear, and music, especially loud military marches, could often trigger a headache.

Sitting on the raised dais, he looked out across the field, and there was the nightmare memory of this same field, little more than two months back, the same field across which Lee had launched his final charge on Frederick.

The town behind him was quickly rebuilding, but the land around Frederick still bore mute evidence of the shock of war. Destroyed fields, gutted farmhouses and barns, and, directly before him, earth still freshly mounded over, row upon row upon row, nearly six thousand graves so far.

The crowd that had gathered for the ceremony stood in a vast semicircle around the new cemetery, but a scattering of men and women stood within, an informal understanding that those who had a comrade or loved one resting on this sacred ground could stand by the remains of their fallen.

Near the front he saw Emily McPherson, dressed in black. He caught her eye for a moment and was filled yet again with the memory of his old comrade. Near her was a soldier in Confederate uniform, a young colonel, standing next to the grave of Custer.

A fair number of former Confederates were actually present, though he did not know their names. Sergeant Hazner and one-armed Sergeant Robinson were present, standing by the mass graves for the unidentified Confederate dead, who, at the insistence of President Lincoln, were to be interned in the same cemetery, though in a different section, a compromise Lincoln made when some hard-liners protested that decision.

Another decision that Lincoln had made-and stoutly shut down any protest over-was that black soldiers' graves were to be mingled with white. Grant recognized Major Bartlett, a Medal of Honor around his neck, and by his side an elderly black gentleman whom he recognized as well, Mr. James Bartlett, now special adviser to the president for the Freedmen's Bureau. They stood together by a grave, hands resting on the temporary wooden cross. He caught their gaze for a second, and Major Bartlett came to attention and saluted. Grant nodded in return, knowing that they were standing by the grave of their son and grandson.

The music continued, and Grant waited patiently for it to finish.

"Well, General, it is over, and you did it," Elihu Washburne said, leaning over to whisper to him. "Looking back, did you always think it was going to end this way?"

Grant shook his head, glad for the momentary diversion of conversation.

"No, sir, I did not think victory was inevitable."

Elihu looked at him with surprise.

"From the moment you were assigned command and first met President Lincoln, you said we would win."

Grant smiled.

"All generals must say that if they are indeed to win. What kind of confidence could I give to my men, to you or the president if I said, 'Maybe'? Men must go into battle with confidence, and that was my job, sir, to instill that confidence, and frankly to believe in it as well. To do otherwise would mean defeat.

"But now that it is over, I can confess, there were times that I did doubt we could do it."

"How so?"

"The South was trying to leave, and we were trying to force them to stay. Conquering a region is vastly harder than defending it. We had no real army when this war began. Many of our best officers left to defend their home states.

"Only one man stood between ending the Union and preserving the Union, and that man is sitting over there."

Grant pointed toward Lincoln, who was sitting next to the speaker's podium.

"It ultimately rested with him. Without his will and his ability to survive defeat after defeat and discouragement after discouragement the South would now be a separate country and the Confederacy would be our rival on the North American continent. General Lee had the South at the edge of victory after Second Bull Run, after Fredericksburg, after Chancellorsville, and after the great victories of this summer. A weaker man than President Lincoln would have broken, and an armistice would have been signed. Once a truce was signed, there would never have been the will to start fighting again. No, sir, this victory was a long way from inevitable, and every young American ought to learn just how important one man can be. How one man can shape history and, in that moment, save a nation.

"And General Lee as well. He stood up for the honor of the South at the end. His actions in Richmond spared us a year or more of terrible conflict, and he is now helping to heal the wounds. I thank God for him as well."

The band finished playing, and ever so slowly Abraham Lincoln, sixteenth president of the United States, came to his feet and stepped up to the lectern. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out several sheets of paper, laid them out, and then raised his head and began to speak, his high tenor voice carrying far across the cemetery and the fields beyond…

"Four score and seven years ago…"