"They were honorable soldiers, I could do no less."

"I think, gentlemen, we are all in agreement on this," Elihu interjected.

Elihu looked over at Grant and sat back.

"Gentlemen, I think it has nearly all been said."

Lee nodded.

"I promise you, General Lee, rations shall be up by dawn for your men. The signing of paroles will start tomorrow as well. Might I suggest a formal stacking of arms and colors on the morning of September 3. At which time I will try to issue out five days' rations to each of your men to help them on their way home."

"Thank you, sir."

The group stood up and was silent, not sure how it was to end.

"It is our duty now," Grant said, "to heal this nation."

The White House

August 31,1863 10:30 P.M.

The serenaders had gathered around the White House at dusk, when the first newspaper extras had been rushed out into the streets, newsboys crying, "Lee surrenders at Frederick!" "Grant saves the Union!"

The crowd, which only days before had been on the verge of rioting, was now exuberant, cheer after cheer rising up as two batteries in Lafayette Park fired off a hundred-gun salute.

He had finally relented and stepped out onto the balcony, unable to speak for several minutes as hysterical cries greeted him.

Finally he lowered his head. Then all fell silent, and he looked up at them.

"Now is a time of celebration," he said, "and I join with you."

Again long minutes of cheering. "Hurrah for Old Abe." "Hurrah for Grant." "The Union."

"And yet, our task is not finished," he began, the crowd falling silent with his words. "There is much to do. Let us all join in prayer that our former brothers and sisters of the South shall see the will of God in this decision and that soon the guns will fall silent forever. That the chorus of the Union shall again swell as one voice and that the better angels of our nature shall again prevail.

"Now is a time of celebration but it must be, as well, a time of forgiveness. Forgiveness of our former foes, and yes, of ourselves as well, for all that we have done to each other. God has placed this test before us and let us rise to the occasion, not just now but in years to come. Let us set aside our hatreds, our fears, and join hands once more. Let us show compassion for the wounded and the widow"-he paused- "of both sides.

"And let us honor, as well, the pledge made by our forefathers in the Declaration, in which it is written, that all men are created equal. Let us now honor that pledge as well."

There were no cheers now, only a somber silence, some in tears.

He forced a smile and looked down at the band on the front lawn of the White House.

"Bandmaster, I think we can claim right of conquest to a song I have loved dearly for years, but have seldom heard in this city of late."

"Whatever you desire, Mr. President," the bandmaster shouted back, and a certain levity returned to the crowd.

" 'Dixie.' I would dearly love to hear 'Dixie' once more."

Edwards Ferry

The Banks of the Potomac

September 3, 1863 The roll of drums echoed from the woods, sending a shiver down his spine. It was not the long roll signaling the charge, just a steady thumping beat, growing louder and louder.

A cool breeze swept across the Potomac, ruffling the water, flags whipping out around him, the national colors, corps standards, regimental flags, his own headquarters flag.

The morning was cool, rain having passed during the night, the dawn breaking fresh and clear with a hint of autumn to come.

The drumroll grew in intensity and then he saw them, the head of their column coming out of the forest.

The head of the column was a sea of red battle standards of the Army of Northern Virginia and inwardly Gen. Ulysses S. Grant felt a chill.

How often I have seen those flags through the smoke of battle, coming on relentlessly, gray-clad warriors charging forward beneath them, their wild shouts echoing to the heavens.

But now they marched in silence.

There must have been a hundred or more flags at the head of the column, the colors standing out bright and clear in the early morning light. Ahead of them rode a single man on a gray horse, followed by several others.

The flags cleared the forest, and behind them came the column of infantry, ranked in column of fours, officers to their front, drawn sabers resting on shoulders, but the men behind them no longer carrying rifles. Their weapons had been stacked at dawn, when they had fallen into ranks, cartridge boxes slung over weapons and left behind.

They were now less than three hundred yards away, entering the open fields cut back but days before in preparation for battle to defend this crossing, roughly dug graves from that battle covering the ground in front of one of the forts. They approached the wide temporary bridge laid across the canal. As they reached the embankment they would be able to see what awaited them on the open ground leading down to the Potomac where he waited at the edge of the pontoon bridge across the river.

Grant turned and, saying nothing, nodded to Ely Parker.

Ely rode forward a few feet out into the middle of the road, drew his saber, and rested it on his shoulder. "Battalions!"

The cry echoed down the length of the road, picked up by the thousands of Union troops deployed. "Atten-shun!"

The troops flanking to either side of the road came to attention.

"Present arms!"

The echo of the command startled Gen. Robert E. Lee who had been lost in melancholic thought. He raisec his head, looking straight ahead. The road was flanked to either side by several divisions of Union troops, standing a half dozen ranks deep. As one, all raised their rifles up to present arms, the traditional military salute.

Lee stiffened in the saddle and slowed. He looked over his shoulder. Walter Taylor was carrying his headquarters flag, Pete Longstreet by his side. Judah Benjamin was with him, as was John Bell Hood, gray-faced, with a bandaged stump of an arm, but insisting over all protests that today he would ride out and look "those Yankees" straight in the eye.

He had not expected this. Never across the last several days had there been mention of it by Grant. The agreement reached was simply that the men were to stack arms on the morning of the third, break camp, march to the river, and there surrender their colors before crossing the river.

He had half-feared that the surrender of colors might be a difficult moment and even wondered if the earlier surrender of arms was a subtle way of preventing trouble. For surely, when the cherished banners behind him were turned over, emotions might overflow for those who had followed them for so long, had given so much for so long. He had agreed with Grant's suggestion that all flags to be surrendered were to be massed at the front of the column rather than to be directly turned over by their own men.

Never had he expected this.

He looked to his comrades.

'Tell the men to march with pride," Lee said solemnly. "Honors are being rendered to us."

The column had come to a halt behind him, drums stilled. Lee looked over at Pete, John, Walter, and Judah. "Forward, gentlemen."

The drums picked up again, a steady marching cadence, orders shouted back down the line, and though there was no longer that reassuring sound of men slapping the barrels of their rifles as they shifted them to present, he could sense that all had braced up, heads raised, eyes level.

The first of the Union troops were directly ahead, their colors held high, tough, lean men, Westerners by the looks of their battered hats, threadbare jackets, and patched trousers. Their officers, mounted, came to attention and saluted with drawn sabers, and Lee returned the salute.