Palm Sunday, 9th April. The large front parlour of the house belonging to Wilmer McLean in the village of Appomattox Court House, somewhat formally and fussily furnished by an owner who is evidently a man of means and is now anxiously following General Alexander around as he supervises the preparation of the room for the imminent formal surrender. This consists in clearing a good deal of the furniture to the fringes of the room and replacing it with two small tables, one wood, one marble-topped, each with its own straight chair. McLean is fifty, rather overweight and eccentrically bearded; he’s in a state of neurotic agitation. Sounds of horses arriving, offstage.
McLean I’ll tell you something, sir, you’ll hardly be able to believe: I used to live in a farmhouse near Manassas and during that first great battle of Bull Run, I was taking dinner with General Beauregard, when a Union cannonball landed in my kitchen. So I brought my family down here to Appomattox Court House, where I was assured we’d be far away from the noise of battle and never troubled again. And now …
Alexander Now you’ll be able to say: the war started in your backyard and it ended in your front parlour.
McLean Well, yes, so I will, the Lord be praised. There is just one thing, sir …
Alexander Yes?
McLean Many of these pieces of furniture are antiques, so they’re not merely of sentimental value. I’d be most grateful if you could impress that on your men.
Alexander Please don’t concern yourself, Mr McLean. I can assure you even the pieces that are not antiques will become extremely desirable: history is about to be made in this room.
From an inner room steps the resplendent figure of General Lee, wearing a new, perfectly tailored grey dress uniform, offset by a blood-red sash and cummerbund, a Russian leather belt studded with gold and an engraved ornamental sword. He looks every inch the victor. He crosses to Alexander and calmly addresses him.
Lee They tell me he’s arrived.
And, on cue, the front door opens and General Grant steps into the house, accompanied by a number of his officers including General Rawlins and his military secretary, Colonel Ely S. Parker, thirty-seven, an Iroquois, a tall, impressive figure. In total contrast to Lee, Grant is wearing the same dirty boots and mud-splattered uniform as before. His tunic gapes open to reveal the government-issue private’s shirt beneath. No spurs, no sword, no side arms. He looks, in the words of a contemporary witness, like ‘a fly on a shoulder of beef’. He sees Lee and steps forward to shake hands with him, self-consciously buttoning his tunic as he does so.
Grant General Lee.
Lee General Grant. I am delighted to make your acquaintance, sir.
Grant We have in fact met once before.
Lee We have?
Grant During the Mexican War.
Lee Well, now, somebody once told me you and I had met in Mexico; and I’ve often tried, these last few months, to recollect your face. Without a glimmer of success, I’m afraid.
Grant Oh, I remember you most particularly. You came over from Headquarters to inspect Garland’s brigade, in which I was then serving.
Lee Ah, Mexico.
Grant Beautiful town, was it not, Monterrey? All those pomegranate trees. Of course, the war was quite unjust, as it always is when a stronger nation picks on a weaker.
Lee I leave you to be the judge of that, sir.
Grant But I certainly learned a great deal. Not least from you, sir.
Lee It’s most gracious of you to say so, sir, but pleasant as it is to chat with you, I believe we have some business
to conduct. I imagine the purpose of our meeting is fully understood.
Grant Indeed it is, sir.
Lee I am here to ascertain upon what terms you would receive the surrender of my army.
Grant The terms are substantially those I proposed in my letter: that’s to say, the officers and men who are surrendered are to be paroled and disqualified from taking up arms again until properly exchanged. All arms, ammunition and supplies are to be delivered up as captured property.
Lee Those are about the conditions I expected.
Grant Yes. Of course, I hope this may lead to a general suspension of hostilities.
Lee Yes.
Grant And the means of preventing any further loss of life.
Lee Indeed. May I suggest you commit your terms to writing so that they may be formally acted upon.
Grant Very well.
He turns to Parker.
Would you give me my order book?
Parker brings him the order book – yellow, flimsy pages interspersed with carbon paper and a pen and ink. Grant sits at the marble-topped table. As Parker moves off, Lee speaks discreetly to Grant, out of Parker’s earshot.
Lee Is he … ah, I mean … is he a freed man?
Grant No … Oh, I see what you mean … No, he’s a Seneca Indian and a very gifted engineer.
He looks around briefly, then seats himself at the wooden table, as Grant, after due reflection, begins to write.