Tom Strong, Lincoln's Scout

  CHAPTER XII

  TOWSER WELCOMES TOM TO THE WHITE HOUSE--LINCOLN RE-ELECTED PRESIDENT--GRANT COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF--SHERMAN MARCHES FROM ATLANTA TO THE SEA--TOM ON GRANT'S STAFF--FIVE FORKS--FALL OF RICHMOND--HANS ROLF FREED--BOB SAVES TOM FROM CAPTURE--TOM TAKES A BATTERY INTO ACTION--LEE SURRENDERS--TOM STRONG, BREVET-CAPTAIN U. S. A.

  The warmest welcome Tom had at the White House was given him by Towser.The next warmest was given him by Uncle Moses and the next by Lincoln.The staff was glad to see him back, but many of them were jealous of thePresident's evident liking for him and would not have sorrowed overmuchif he had not come back at all. The patient President found time, amidall his myriad cares, to listen to Tom's story and to make SecretaryStanton give a captain's commission to Jim Grayson, who was sent to hisown mountains to gather recruits for the Union army. For Towser, timeexisted only to be spent in welcoming his young master home. He clungclose to him, with slobbering jaws and thumping tail, through the firstday, and the first night he managed to escape from Uncle Mose's care inthe basement and to find Tom's attic room. Thenceforth, as long as Tomstayed at the White House, Towser stretched his yellow bulk across thethreshold of his door every night and slept there the sleep of theutterly happy.

  There were no utterly happy men under the White House roof. Lincoln'spresidential term was drawing to a close. He was renominated by theRepublicans, but his re-election at times seemed impossible. TheDemocrats had put forward Gen. George B. McClellan, once chief commanderof the Union forces, but a pitiful failure as an aggressive general. Adiscontented wing of the Republicans had nominated Gen. John C.Fremont. Fremont had not fulfilled the promise of his youth. At thebeginning of the war, he had been put in command at St. Louis, hadproved to be incompetent, and had been retired. He was still strong inthe hearts of many people, but Lincoln feared the success, not ofFremont, but of McClellan. John Hay once said to the President:

  "Fremont might be dangerous if he had more ability and energy."

  "Yes," was the reply, "he is like Jim Jett's brother. Jim used to saythat his brother was the greatest scoundrel that ever lived, but in theinfinite mercy of Providence he was also the greatest fool."

  Family sayings, when they are not loving, are apt to be bitter. One ofthe Vanderbilts said of a connection of his by marriage that he was"more kinds of a fool to the square inch than anybody else in theworld."

  McClellan, who seemed practically certain of success in August, 1864,was badly beaten in November, when the battle of parties was fought outat the polls. Fremont had retired from the contest early in thecampaign. At the first Cabinet meeting after the election, November 11,1864, the President took a paper out of his desk and said:

  "Gentlemen, do you remember last summer I asked you all to sign yournames to the back of a paper, of which I did not show you the inside?This is it. Now, Mr. Hay, see if you can get this open without tearingit."

  Its cover was so thoroughly pasted up that it had to be cut open. Thisdone, Lincoln read it aloud. Here it is:

  "Executive Mansion, Washington, August 23, 1864.

  "This morning, as for some days past, it seems exceedingly probable that this Administration will not be re-elected. Then it will be my duty to so co-operate with the President elect as to save the Union between the election and the inauguration; as he will have secured his election on such ground that he cannot possibly save it afterwards.

  A. LINCOLN."

  In that memorandum is the sign-manual of a great soul. Lincoln,believing his own defeat was written in the stars, thought, not ofhimself, but of how he, defeated, could best save the cause of the Unionfrom defeat. A small man thinks first of himself. A big man thinks firstof his duty.

  Life was happy at the White House now. The President had been re-electedand it was clear that long before his second term was over, he wouldhave won a victorious peace. The South was still fighting with all theenergy brave men can show for a cause in the righteousness of which theybelieve, but after all the energy was that of despair. Grant was now insupreme command of the Union forces, East and West. He had beencommissioned Lieutenant-General and put in command March 17, 1864. Incommemoration of this event, the turning point in the great struggle,Lincoln had had a photograph of himself taken. But two copies of it wereprinted. One Lincoln kept himself. One he gave Grant. Here is the onegiven Grant.

  ABRAHAM LINCOLN]

  The new Lieutenant-General was hammering away at Richmond. TheMississippi, now under Union control, cut the Confederacy in two. Allthe chief Southern seaports, except Savannah and Charleston, had beencaptured. And in this same month of November, 1864, Gen. WilliamTecumseh Sherman, who ranked only second to Grant in the United Statesarmy, cut loose from Atlanta, Georgia, captured two months before andbegan his famous march to the sea, with Savannah as his destination. Heillustrated his own well-known saying: "War is hell." If it was hell inSherman's time, what word can describe the horror of it in our day? Heswept with sword and fire a belt of fertile country, sixty miles wide,from Atlanta to the sea. He found it smiling and rich; he left it a bareand blackened waste. He had destroyed the granary of the Confederacy andbefore the next month ended he had made his country a Christmas presentof the remaining chief Southern seaport, Savannah. He wrote to Lincoln:"I beg to present to you as a Christmas gift the city of Savannah, withone hundred and fifty heavy guns and plenty of ammunition and alsotwenty-five thousand bales of cotton." Cotton was worth a dollar a poundin those days.

  Early in 1865 Sherman swung northward from Savannah, forced thesurrender of Charleston, South Carolina, and joined Union forcesadvancing from the North at Goldsboro', North Carolina, March 23. Sixdays later Grant began the final campaign against the Confederacy. Sixdays before, Lincoln had said to the boy:

  "Tom, would you like to see some more fighting?"

  "Yes, Mr. President; very much."

  "Well, you needn't tell anybody, but I guess there'll be some to seebefore long near Richmond. I've had you ordered from special service atthe White House to special service with the Lieutenant-General. Here'sthe order and here's a letter to General Grant. I wouldn't wonder if heput you on his staff."

  "How can I thank you, Mr. Lincoln?"

  "The best way to thank anybody is to do well the work he gives you todo. Good-by, my son, and good luck."

  GEN. W. T. SHERMAN St. Gaudens' Statue, New York]

  With a pressure of Lincoln's huge hand Tom was sped on his rejoicingway. Two days later he was at Grant's headquarters, at City Point,Virginia, near Fortress Monroe. He saluted and handed the GeneralLincoln's letter. The soldier sat, a silent sphinx, for a moment. Thenhe looked up at Tom with a quizzical but not unkindly smile, and said:

  "Have you learned anything since you brought me dispatches at FortDonelson and Vicksburg?"

  "I hope so, General."

  "Sometimes the President sends me people for political reasons. Isuppose he has to. But I don't take them if I know it. Have you anypolitical influence behind you?"

  "Not a bit, sir." Tom laughed at the thought.

  "You laugh well. You and Horace Porter ought to get on together. Helaughs well, too. You can serve on my staff.

  "I thank you, General."

  Tom saluted and walked away, to find Horace Porter, whom he found to bea very nice fellow indeed. One of the first things the nice fellow didfor him was to get him a good horse. There was no lack of horses atheadquarters. The difficulty was not to find one, but to choose the bestof many good ones. Tom, who had a good eye for a horse, found one thatexactly suited him except as to color. He was of a mottled gray. The boydid not much care for such a color, but he knew it had its advantages.It does not advertise its presence. Where a black, a white or a bayhorse would stand out and make a mark for hostile sharpshooters, amottled gray might well elude their view. And the horse, apart fromt
his, was just what he wanted. He paced fast, he galloped fast, and hewalked fast, which is a rare and precious accomplishment in a horse. Theaverage horse walks, as a rule, slower than the average man. In an hour,he covers a quarter-of-a-mile less ground. One question remained to besettled.

  "Can he jump?" asked Tom.

  "Jump, is it?" answered the soldier-groom. "Shure, the cow that jumpedover the moon couldn't lift a leg to him."

  "You bet your life he can jump," said Horace Porter. "General Grant hasridden him twice and I saw him put Bob over a fence or two."

  BOB]

  Not long afterwards Tom did bet his life on Bob's jumping. He was namedBob before the United States took him. He had been captured the monthbefore and had come across the lines with his name embroidered by somewoman's hand on his saddle-blanket and with his late owner's blood uponhis saddle. He was a tall, leggy animal who showed a trace of Arabianblood and who needed to be gentled a bit to get his best work out ofhim. His mouth was appreciative of sugar and his eyes were appreciativeof kindness.

  Both dogs and horses talk with their eyes.

  "I like my new master," was what Bob's eyes said to Tom.

  It was through a chance suggestion of Colonel Porter that the boy sawmost of what he did see of the final fight for freedom. Porter hadpresented Tom to Gen. Philip H. Sheridan, who was then at City Point,receiving Grant's final instructions for the twelve-day campaign thatended in the fall of Richmond and the surrender of Lee's brave army.Sheridan was a stocky, red-faced young Irishman, a graduate of WestPoint, and a born leader of men, especially of cavalrymen. He liked theclear-eyed lad who stood respectfully before him. He had done too muchin his own youth to think Tom was useless because he was so young.Porter saw that the boy had made a good impression. He ventured asuggestion.

  "Why don't you take young Strong with you, General?"

  Sheridan turned sharply to Tom, asking:

  "Can you ride?"

  "Oh, yes, sir. I've ridden ever since I can remember."

  "Well, that's not so very long a time. But I'll take your word for it.Would you like to go with me?"

  "I'd like it better than anything else in the world, General."

  Tom had rejoiced in the idea of being with Grant, but he knew that thecommander-in-chief must stay behind his lines and that his staff couldcatch but glimpses of the fighting, when they were sent forward withorders, whereas with Sheridan he might be in the very thick of thefighting itself. His ready answer and the joy that beamed in his eyespleased the fighting Irishman.

  "Can I borrow him of General Grant?" Sheridan asked Porter.

  "I'll answer for that," Porter replied. "The General told me to putStrong to whatever work I could find for him to do."

  "Come ahead," said Sheridan. "You'll see some beautiful fighting!"

  Sheridan loved fighting, but he made no pretense of never being afraid.He thought a general should be close to the front, to keep his soldiers'spirits high.

  "Are you never afraid?" Charles A. Dana, then Assistant Secretary ofWar, once asked him.

  "If I was, I should not be ashamed of it. If I should follow my naturalimpulse, I should run away always at the beginning of the danger. Themen who say they are never afraid in a battle do not tell the truth."

  * * * * *

  March 29, 1865, the twelve-day campaign began. The cavalry swung outtowards Five Forks, where Lee's right wing lay behind deepentrenchments. April 1, Sheridan attacked in force. Americans foughtAmericans with stubborn bravery on both sides. The issue was long indoubt. Sheridan and his staff were close to the firing-line, so that Tomhad but a few hundred yards to gallop under fire when his general saidto him:

  STATUE OF GEN. PHILIP H. SHERIDAN Sheridan Square, Washington, D. C. Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, New York.]

  "Tell General Griffin to charge and keep charging."

  Griffin's order to his troops was so quickly given that it seemed anecho of the order Tom brought him. It was the boy's business to returnforthwith and report upon his mission, but he simply couldn't do it.There were the Confederate lines manned with hungry soldiers in theremnants of their gray uniforms, the Stars-and-Bars flying above them.And there were battalions of blue-clad cavalry, men and horses in primecondition, straining to start like hounds upon a leash. Griffin's orderwas the electric spark that fired the battery. The men shouted with joyas they spurred their horses into a mad gallop. The shout was answeredby the shrill "rebel yell" from the dauntless foe in the trenches. Thecharging column shook the ground. In its foremost files rodeSecond-lieutenant Tom Strong, forgetful of everything else in the worldbut the joy of battle. Musketry and artillery tore bloody lanes in theclose-packed column. Men and horses fell in heaps upon the blood-stainedground. But the column went on. At dusk of that April day it poured overthe parapets so bravely held. Even then the fight was not over. Therewas still stout resistance. The two armies were a mass of strugglingmen, shooting, stabbing, striking. The battle had become a series ofduels man to man. Tom, pistol in hand, rode at a big Kentuckian, but thegray-clad giant dodged the bullet, caught his own unloaded musket by themuzzle, and dealt the boy a blow with its butt that knocked him off hishorse and left him senseless on the ground.

  A few minutes later, when he came to his senses, he felt as if he were aboy annexed to a shoulder twice as big as all the rest of his body. Itwas on his shoulder that the blow of the clubbed musket had gone home.The fall from his horse had stunned him. Bob was standing over him, asBlack Auster stood over Herminius, nuzzling at the outstretched hand ofthis silent, motionless thing that had been his master. They had beentogether for less than a week, but a day is often long enough for ahorse to find out that his master is his friend. Tom had been morecareful of his horse's comfort than of his own. Now the good gray hadstood by him and over him, perhaps saving him from being trampled todeath in that fierce last act of the Drama of Five Forks. Bob whinniedwith joy as Tom's eyes slowly opened again. He thrust his muzzle downalong the boy's cheek and the boy caught hold of the flowing mane withhis right hand and pulled himself upon his feet again. His left arm hunguseless by his side. One glance told him the battle was won. The duelswere over. The Confederates were in full retreat. A stream of prisonerswas already flowing by him. He mounted and followed it to Sheridan'sheadquarters. There the skillful fingers of a surgeon found that nobones were broken. The swollen shoulder was dressed and bandaged. Thehealthy blood that filled Tom's veins did much to make a speedy cure.So did the joy of victory. Sheridan had done what Grant had given him todo. He had driven back Lee's right flank and cut the railroad by whichLee must escape from Richmond, if escape he could.

  Richmond was doomed. The next morning, Sunday, April 2, 1865, JeffersonDavis, President of the Confederate States of America, sat in his pew inSt. Paul's Church, Richmond. The solemn service began. Soon there was astir at the door, a rustle, a turning of heads away from the chancel,where the gray-haired rector stood. Swiftly a messenger came up theaisle. Davis rose from his knees to receive the message. The servicestopped. Every eye was bent upon the leader of the Lost Cause. He put onhis spectacles, opened the missive, and read it amid a breathlesssilence. It told him that the Cause was lost indeed. It was from Lee,who wrote: "My lines are broken in three places. Richmond must beevacuated this evening." There was no sign of feeling upon JeffersonDavis's impassive face, as he read the fateful dispatch. Without aword, without a sign, he left the church with the wife whose utterdevotion had helped him bear the burden of those terrible years, duringwhich proud hope gradually gave way to sickening fear. Davis was not ofthose weak men who despair. There was still a little hope in his heart,despite the tremendous blow Lee's letter had dealt him. He walked downthe aisle with head as high as though he were marching to assuredvictory. But through the congregation there ran the whisper "Richmond isto be evacuated." A panic-stricken mob poured out of the church withfaltering steps behind Jefferson Davis's firm, proud ones. Early thatafternoon the Confe
derate Government fled. Early the next morning,Monday, April 3, 1865, Gen. Godfrey Weitzel marched his negro troopsinto the Confederate capital. The flag of the free floated from the domeof the Statehouse, which almost from the earliest days of the war hadsheltered what was now indeed the Lost Cause. It was raised there byLieut. Johnston L. De Peyster, a youth of eighteen, who had carried itwrapped around the pommel of his saddle for some days, hoping for thechance that now came to him. The second Union flag that was raised thatday in Richmond was over Libby. The prison gates gave up their prey. Theprisoners poured out, some too weak to do more than smile, others in afrenzy of joy. Major Hans Rolf, reduced by hunger to a long lath of aman, had lost none of his spirit.

  "Now, boys," he shouted, "three times three for the old flag!"

  The cheers rang out in a feeble chorus and then there rang out Han'scontagious laughter.

  "Ha! ha!" he roared. "We're free, boys, we're free."

  By that Sunday night, the fate of Petersburg was sealed.Grant had ordered an assault in force at six o'clock Monday morning, butthe Confederates abandoned their works in the gray dawn and our troopsmet little resistance in taking over the town. "General Meade and I,"says General Grant in his "Personal Memoirs," "entered Petersburgon the morning of the third and took a position under cover of a housewhich protected us from the enemy's musketry which was flying thick andfast there. As we would occasionally look around the corner, we couldsee ... the Appomattox bottom ... packed with the Confederate army.... Ihad not the heart to turn the artillery upon such a mass of defeated andfleeing men and I hoped to capture them soon."

  "Let us follow up Lee," Meade suggested. He was a better follower than afighter. He had followed Lee before, from Gettysburg to Richmond,without ever attacking him.

  "On the contrary," Grant replied, "we will cut off his retreat byoccupying the Danville railroad and capture him. He must get to his foodto keep his troops alive. We will get between him and his food."

  With constant fighting this was done. By Wednesday, April 5, the Unionlines were drawn about the Confederate army. Sheridan, hampered byMeade's slowness, was urgent that Grant should come to the front. Hesent message after message to that effect to Grant on Wednesday. Ascout in gray uniform was entrusted with the second message. He was madeup to look like a Confederate scout, but he was Tom Strong. He had puton his disguise at Sheridan's headquarters. As he stood at attention toreceive his orders, Sheridan laughed and said:

  "You make a good 'Johnny Reb.' Do you chew tobacco?"

  Surprised at the question, Tom said he didn't.

  "Well, you may have to begin the habit today. You're to take thismessage to General Grant. If you're caught, chew it--and swallow itquick."

  He handed the boy a bit of tinfoil. It looked like a small package ofchewing-tobacco, but it contained a piece of tissue-paper upon whichSheridan's message was written.

  The ride from the left flank to the center was not without danger. Tom,duly provided with the password, could go by any Union forces withoutdifficulty, but the country swarmed with Confederates, some of themdeserters, many of them straggling detachments cut off from the mainarmy and seeking to rejoin it, all of them more than ready to capture aUnion soldier and his horse.

  The boy climbed a little clumsily into the saddle. His left shoulderstill felt like a big balloon stuffed full of pain. But there wasnothing clumsy in his seat, as Bob shot off like an arrow at the touchof Tom's heel on his flank. It was a beautiful, bright April morning,too beautiful a day for men to be killing each other. Evidently,however, it did not seem so to the commander of a company of Confederatecavalry, who had laid an ambush into which Tom gayly galloped. He hearda sharp order to halt. He saw men ride across the road in front of him.He whirled about, only to see the road behind him blocked. He was fairlytrapped. But there was one chance of escaping from the trap and Tom tookit. His would-be captors had come from the left of the road, itsnorthern side, for he was traveling east. On the south was a highrail-fence, laid in the usual zigzags, one of the few which had not fedthe camp-fires of Northern Virginia. It was a good five feet high; itwas only a few feet away; Bob was standing still for a second inslippery mud. It was not at all the kind of place to select for a jump,but the Confederates had selected the place, not Tom. He rememberedColonel Porter's saying "You can bet your life Bob can jump," and he bethis life on Porter's being right. He put Bob at the fence. The gallantgray, as if he sensed his master's danger, took one bound toward therails, gathered himself together into a tense mass of muscle, and roseinto the air like a bird. As he flew over the top-rail, carbines crackedbehind him, but as he leaped southward across the countryside, a ringingcheer followed him too. The brave Southerners rejoiced in the brave featthat took their captive into freedom. Their jaded horses could notfollow. There was no pursuit.

  It took Tom some hours to double back towards Grant's headquarters. Hemet long lines of Union cavalry, infantry, and artillery pressingforward to strengthen Sheridan's forces. They were going west and theychoked every road and lane and path by which the boy sought to go east.They had begun their march at three o'clock that morning. They had hadno breakfast. They carried no food. Their wagon-trains were miles in therear. It was their fourth day of continuous fighting. They had a rightto be tired, but they were not tired. They had a right to be hungry, butthey were not hungry. When the air was full of victory, what did anempty stomach matter? Cheering and singing, they swept along. The end offour years' fighting was in sight. The hunted foe was trying to slinkaway to safety, as many a fox, with hounds and huntsmen closing in uponhim, had tried to do on these Virginian fields. Never were huntsmen moreanxious to be "in at the death" than were those joyous Union soldiers onthat memorable April day.

  It was nearly night when the boy reached headquarters, saluted thecommander-in-chief, said "A message from General Sheridan," and handedover the little tinfoil package.

  "You can go back with me," said Grant. "That horse of yours is Bob,isn't it?" Grant never forgot a horse he had once ridden.

  Within an hour the General and his staff, with a small cavalry escort,started for Sheridan's headquarters. By ten that night the two weretogether. Sheridan was almost crying over the orders Meade had givenhim. By midnight Sheridan was happy. "I explained to Meade," say the"Personal Memoirs," "that we did not want to follow the enemy; we wantedto get ahead of him; and that his orders would allow the enemy toescape.... Meade changed his orders at once."

  That change of orders incidentally put Tom Strong the next day into thehottest fight of his life. This was the battle of Sailor's Creek, almostforgotten since amid the mightier happenings of that wonderful Aprilweek, but never forgotten by Tom Strong. Our forces had attacked Lee'sretreating legions, retreating toward the provision trains that weretheir only hope of food. The fight was fierce. We had attacked withboth infantry and cavalry, but our gallant fellow-countrymen held theirlines unbroken. Then with a thunder of wheels our field artillery cameinto action. The Confederate guns were shelling the hillside up whichthe plunging horses drew our cannon. There were six horses in each team,an artilleryman riding each near horse and holding the off horse of thepair by a bridle. Tom had come up with orders and was standing byGeneral Wright as the guns bounded up the hillside. Bob stood behind hismaster, whinnying a bit with excitement.

  General Wright snapped his watch shut impatiently.

  "They're ten minutes late," he complained. "We're beaten if we don't get'em into action instantly. Good Heavens! there goes our first gun todestruction!"

  A Confederate shell had struck and burst close to the leaders. Afragment of it swept the foremost rider from his seat and from life. Thetwo horses he had handled reared, plunged, jumped to one side. The sixhorses were huddled into a frightened heap. The two other soldiers coulddo nothing with the leaders out of control. The gun stopped short. Andbehind it stopped all of one of the two lines of advancing artillery.

  "Take that gun into action!"

  Tom heard the General's brief command and ran towa
rd the huddled horses.He sprang into the saddle, seized both bridles, and drove on. As he didso, another Confederate shell burst beside the off horse. Its fragmentsspared the foremost rider this time, but they dealt death to one of histwo comrades. The man in control of the wheelers threw his right arm outand toppled over into the road, dead before the heavy cannon-wheelcrashed and crushed over him. The leaders, so skillfully handled thattheir very fear made them run more madly into danger, tore ahead,keeping the other four horses galloping behind them, until the gun wasin position. It roared the news of its coming with a well-aimed shotinto the midst of the enemy's forces.

  TOM TAKES A BATTERY INTO ACTION]

  Its fellows fell into line and followed suit. The infantry and cavalryattacked with renewed spirit. Sullenly and savagely, fighting untildarkness forbade more fighting, Lee's troops withdrew towards the west,with the Union forces pounding away at them. They left a mass of deadupon the battlefield, lives finely lost for the Lost Cause, and theyalso left as prisoners six general officers and seven thousand men. Morethan a third of all the prisoners taken in the battles before the finalsurrender were taken at the battle of Sailor's Creek. Tom had stuck tohis new arm of the service through the three hours of fighting. The gunshad been continually advanced as the Southerners retreated. They hadbeen continually under fire. Nearly half the gunners had been killed orwounded. When the fight was over, Tom remembered for the first time hisown wounded shoulder. He had never thought of it from the moment when hehad sprung upon the artillery horse. Now it began to throb with arenewed and a deeper pain, as if resenting his ignoring of it so long,but the new pain also vanished when he rejoined General Wright and heardhim say:

  "Mr. Strong, you helped to save the day. I shall recommend you forpromotion for distinguished bravery under fire."

  The boy saluted, his heart too full to speak. As he rode away upon Bob,some of the joy in his heart must have got into Bob's heels, for Bobpirouetted up the main street of the little town of Farmville, late thatnight, as though he were prouder than ever of his master.

  Farmville was now headquarters. Grant was there, in a bare hotel, notlong before a Confederate hospital. It was from the Farmville hotel thathe wrote to Lee a historic note. It ran thus:

  "Headquarters Armies of the U. S. 5 P.M., April 7, 1865.

  "General R. E. Lee, Commanding C. S. A.:

  The results of the last week must convince you of the hopelessness of further resistance on the part of the Army of Northern Virginia in this struggle. I feel that it is so, and regard it as my duty to shift from myself the responsibility of any further effusion of blood by asking of you the surrender of that portion of the Confederate States army known as the Army of Northern Virginia.

  U. S. GRANT, Lieut.-General."

  Under a flag of truce, this note reached General Lee that evening, sonear together were the headquarters of the contending armies in thoselast days. His letter in reply, asking what terms of surrender wereoffered, reached Grant the next morning while he was talking on thesteps of the Farmville hotel to a Confederate Colonel.

  "Jes' tho't I'd repo't to you, General," said the Colonel.

  "Yes?"

  "You see I own this hyar hotel you're a-occupyin'."

  "Well, sir, we shall move out soon. We are moving around a good deal,nowadays. Why aren't you with your regiment?"

  "Well, you see, General, I am my regiment."

  "How's that?"

  "All the men wuz raised 'round hyar. A few days ago they jes' begunnachally droppin' out. They all dun dropped out, General, so I jes'tho't there wan't any use being a cunnel without no troops and I dundropped out too. Here I be? What you goin' to do with me, General?"

  "I'm going to leave you here to take care of your property. Don't goback to your army and nobody'll bother you."

  That was a sample of the way in which the beaten army was melting away.Not even the magic of Lee's great name could hold it together now. Butthe men who did not drop out fought with heroism to the bitter end.

  The next day, Saturday, April 8, 1865, Sheridan captured some more ofLee's provision trains at Appomattox Station and on Sunday, April 9,Lee's whole army attacked there, still seeking to cut its way out ofits encircling foes. Its brave effort was in vain. Held in a vice, itthrew up its hands. A white flag flew above the Confederate lines.

  Grant had spent Saturday night struggling with a sick headache, his feetin hot water and mustard, his wrists and the back of his neck coveredwith mustard-plasters. On Sunday morning, still sick and suffering, hewas jogging along on horseback towards the front, when a Confederateofficer was brought before him. He carried a note from Lee offering tosurrender. "When the officer reached me," writes Grant, "I was stillsuffering with the sick headache; but the instant I saw the contents ofthe note, I was cured." The ending of the war ended Grant's headache.

  * * * * *

  The two commanders met at Appomattox Court House, a sleepy Virginianvillage, five miles from the railroad and endless miles from the greatworld. It lies in a happy valley, not wrapped in happiness that Aprilday, for Sheridan's forces held the crest at the south and Lee's weredeployed along the hilltop to the north. A two-hour armistice had beengranted. If that did not bring the end desired, that end was to befought out with all the horrors of warfare amid the peaceful houses thathad straggled together to make the peaceful little town.

  At the northern end of the village street, surrounded by an appleorchard, stood a two-story brick house with a white wooden piazza infront of it. It was the home of Wilmer McLean, a Virginia farmer uponwhose farm part of the battle of Bull Run had been fought at theoutbreak of the war. Foreseeing that other battles might be foughtthere--as the second battle of Bull Run, in 1862, was--he had sold hisproperty there and had moved by a strange chance to the very village andthe very house in which the final scene of the great tragedy of this warbetween brothers was to be played. Here Lee awaited Grant.

  The Union general had gone to Sheridan's headquarters before riding upto the McLean house. Sheridan and his staff had gone on with him. Leastimportant of the little group of Union officers who followed Grant intothe presence of Lee was Tom Strong, but the boy's heart beat as high asthat of any man there.

  THE McLEAN HOUSE, APPOMATTOX COURTHOUSE]

  It was in the orchard about the house that the myth of "the apple-treeof Appomattox" was born. Millions of men and women have believed thatLee surrendered to Grant under an apple tree at Appomattox. That appletree is as famous in mistaken history as is that other mythical tree,the cherry tree which George Washington did not cut down with his littlehatchet. Washington could not tell a lie, it is true, but he neverchopped down a cherry tree and then said to his angry, questioningfather: "Father, I cannot tell a lie; I cut it down with my littlehatchet." That fairy story came from the imagination of one ParsonWeems, who did not resemble our first President in the latter'sinability to tell lies. Perhaps the myth of the apple tree will neverdie, as the myth of the cherry tree has never died. In 1880, whenGrant's mistaken friends tried to nominate him for a third Presidentialterm, other candidates had been urged because this one, it was said,could carry Ohio, that one Maine, and so on. Then Roscoe Conkling of NewYork strode upon the stage to nominate Grant and declaimed to a hushedaudience of twenty thousand men:

  "And if you ask what State he comes from, Our sole reply shall be: HE comes from Appomattox And the famous apple tree!"

  The twenty thousand were swept off their feet by the magic of that myth.Grant was almost nominated--but not quite.

  The historic interview began in the room to the left of the front doorin the McLean house. Two very different figures confronted each other.Grant had not expected the meeting to take place so soon and had leftthe farmhouse where he had spent the night befor
e in rough garb. Hewrites: "I was without a sword, as I usually was when on horseback inthe field, and wore a soldier's blouse for a coat, with theshoulder-straps of my rank to indicate to the army who I was.... GeneralLee was dressed in a full uniform, which was entirely new, and waswearing a sword of considerable value, very likely the sword which hadbeen presented by the State of Virginia.... In my rough traveling suit,the uniform of a private with the straps of a lieutenant-general, I musthave contrasted very strangely with a man so handsomely dressed, sixfeet high and of faultless form. But this was not a matter that Ithought of until afterwards."

  Lee requested that the terms to be given his army should be written out.Grant asked General Parker of his staff, a full-blooded American Indian,for writing materials. He had prepared nothing beforehand, but he knewjust what he wanted to say and he wrote without hesitation terms such asonly a great and magnanimous nation could offer its conquered citizens.After providing for the giving of paroles (that is, an agreement not totake up arms again unless the paroled prisoner is later exchanged for aprisoner of the other side) and for the surrender of arms, artillery,and public property, he added: "This will not embrace the sidearms ofthe officers nor their private horses or baggage. This done, eachofficer and man will be allowed to return to their homes, not to bedisturbed by United States authority so long as they observe theirparoles and the laws in force where they reside." There are somemistakes in grammar in these words, but there are no mistakes inmagnanimity. When Lee, having put on his glasses, had read the firstsentence quoted above, he said with feeling:

  LEE SURRENDERS TO GRANT]

  "This will have a happy effect upon my army."

  He went on to say that many of the privates in the Confederate cavalryand artillery owned their own horses; could they retain them? Grant didnot change the written terms, but he said his officers would beinstructed to let every Confederate private who claimed to own a horseor mule take the animal home with him. "It was doubtful," writes Grant,"whether they would be able to put in a crop to carry themselves andtheir families through the next winter without the aid of the horsesthey were then riding." Again Lee remarked that this would have a happyeffect. He then wrote and signed an acceptance of the proposed terms ofsurrender. The war was over. The first act of peace was our issuing25,000 rations to the army we had captured. For some days it had livedon parched corn.

  GEN. U. S. GRANT]

  The news of the surrender flashed along the waiting lines like wildfireand the Union forces began firing a salute of a hundred guns in honor ofthe victory. "I at once sent word," says Grant, "to have it stopped. TheConfederates were now our prisoners and we did not want to exult overtheir downfall." This was the spirit of a great man and of a greatnation. It was not the soldiers who fought the war who kept its rancorsalive after peace had come, It was the politicians, who tore open theold wounds and kept the country bleeding for a dozen years after theLost Cause was lost.

  On the morning of Tuesday, April 10, 1865, Grant and Lee again metbetween the lines and sitting on horseback talked for half an hour. ThenGrant began his journey to Washington. His staff, including Tom, wentwith him. When they reached their goal, Second-Lieutenant Strong foundhe was that no longer. For General Wright had done what he had told Tomhe meant to do. The recommendation had been heeded. Lincoln himselfhanded the boy his new commission as a brevet-captain.

  "I was glad to sign that, Tom," the President told him, "and evenStanton didn't kick this time."

  "You don't know how glad I am to get it, Mr. President," was the reply."Now I'm a boy-captain, as my great-grandfather was before me."

  "I'm not much on pedigrees and ancestry and genealogical trees, my boy,"answered Lincoln. "Out West we think more of trees that grow out of theground than we do of trees that grow on parchment. But you're right tobe proud of an ancestry of service to your country. When family pride isbased on money or land or social standing, it is one of the most foolishthings God Almighty ever laughed at, but when it is based on service,real service, to your country, to your fellowmen, to the world, why,then, Tom, it's one of the biggest and best things in God's kingdom. Butremember this, son,"--Lincoln's eyes flashed in their deep sockets--"ifa boy has an ancestor who has done big things, the way to be proud ofhim is to do big things yourself. Living on the glory of what somebodyelse has done before you is a mighty poor kind of living. I never knewbut one man that was perfect and I'd never have known he was if hehadn't told me so. Nobody else ever found it out. But if we can't beperfect, we can grow less imperfect by trying every day to serve ourfellowmen. Remember that, Tom."