A civil ending
Lee’s surrender to Grant 153 years ago is a reminder that Americans can unite even when torn in two
APPOMATTOX, VA. — On April 9, 1865, Gen. Robert E. Lee strode onto the porch of a twostory brick home and stared out at a lawn filled with Union soldiers, his Confederate staff of two, and his horse Traveler.
Still wearing full military dress, Lee raised his gloved hands and punched his left fist into his right palm. The sound of leather meeting leather echoed in the unsteady silence.
Then, as Lee mounted Traveler, Major Gen. Ulysses S. Grant emerged from the house onto the porch.
Now facing each other, Grant raised his hat, as did Lee. It wasn’t a salute, but clearly an acknowledgment of the moment.
As Lee turned towards the dirt road and headed east towards his troops, the 198th Pennsylvania Infantry played “Auld Lang Syne.” The Civil War was over. “As the sun rose that morning neither man would know by mid-afternoon the war, for all intents and purposes, would end that day,” explained Ernie Price, a park ranger and director of education at Appomattox National Park.
But by mid-morning, Lee knew the Confederate cause was finished. He sent a message to Grant to meet for the purpose of surrender, and the Appomattox home of grocer Wilmer McLean was chosen for the moment.
When they met, Grant was poorly dressed, his uniform rumpled and covered in mud from the ride the night before. Years later in his memoirs, he admitted that he had no idea what he was going to ask from Lee in the surrender.
Yet, once he sat down at a small spindle desk in McLean’s front parlor, words of reconciliation poured out.
“Grant knew that the Confederate soldiers from that moment on were going to be US citizens again,” said Price. “Instead of placing them in prisons in the North he sends them home. His reasoning is: The sooner the South’s economy rebounds, the sooner the country can reconcile, so he paroles them.”
Grant also allowed Lee’s men to keep their personal sidearms and animals, knowing they would desperately need rations to survive.
This week marks the 153rd anniversary of Appomattox, and tourists from around the world still come to the McLean home to remember this singular moment, which kept our nation whole after a bloody, brutal war. When I visited last month, parents, students and children listened to different park rangers tell the story of the two generals, and were surprised by the emotion they felt.
“I wish more people young and old would understand the gravity of this moment and apply that kind of grace in their daily lives,” said 13-year-old Mathilde Colas, with remarkable clarity, as she visited with her family. “It is certainly easier to bring people together if you are generous with your words and actions. That is what I learned most from our visit today.”
The best and the worst of our country’s past sometimes happens side by side. The journey to understand who we once were isn’t always a road to perdition. Sometimes it’s a path toward inspiration.
Between the first shots fired at Fort Sumter in April 1861 and Lee’s surrender here, more than 800,000 soldiers died from fighting, starvation and disease. Five days after the war’s end, President Abraham Lincoln was dead, having paid the ultimate sacrifice for his steadfastness to preserve the union.
Afterwards the country was thrown into both mourning and uncertainty about its future as it faced reconstruction.
All of which should prove to folks who often moan that we live in the worst time possible for this country that, indeed, we do not.
As the two generals waited for their treaty to be prepared in McLean’s parlor, Grant introduced Lee to his staff, including Lt. Col. Ely Parker, a Seneca Indian, who later recalled their exchange.
“It’s good to see one real American here today,” Lee told him.
“General, we are all Americans today,” Parker replied.
Grant and Lee understood that a divided nation is a toxic nation — and that moment 153 years ago should serve as a reminder for all of us, to not just look to the bad and condemn, but to look to the good and apply it to our lives today.