In
the
Confederate
camps
the
VI
Corps
made
merry.
One man
remembered
seeing
a
burly
buck
private
outfitting
himself
in
the
tinseled
gray
dress-uniform
coat
which
some
Confederate
officer
would
never
need
again,
and
another
soldier was
wrapping
a
Confederate
flag
about
his
shoulders
as
if
it were
a
toga.
The
whole
corps
was
up,
now,
overflowing
the trenches,
scampering
around
among
bombproofs
and
huts and
tents,
staring
out
over
ground
which
no
armed
Yankee had
previously
seen.
Up
into
their
midst
came
a
group
of mounted
men,
Grant
and
Meade
and
Wright
trotting
over
to reorganize
the
storming
columns
and
make
the
break-through complete.
21
"Then
and
there,"
wrote
a
Connecticut
soldier
exultantly, "then
and
there
the
long-tried
and
ever
faithful
soldiers
of
the Republic
saw
daylight!"
And
the
whole
corps
looked
up
and down
the
Petersburg
lines—broken
forever,
now—and
took in
what
had
been
done,
and
caught
its
breath,
and
sent
up a
wild
shout
which,
the
Connecticut
man
said,
it
was
worth dying
just
to
listen
to.
22
4.
The Enormous Silence
The
end
of
the
war
was
like
the
beginning,
with
the
army marching
down
the
open
road
under
the
spring
sky,
seeing
a far
light
on
the
horizon.
Many
fights
had
died
in
the
windy dark
but
far
down
the
road
there
was
always
a
gleam,
and
it was
as
if
a
legend
had
been
created
to
express
some
obscure truth
that
could
not
otherwise
be
stated.
Everything
had changed,
the
war
and
the
men
and
the
land
they
fought
for, but
the
road
ahead
had
not
changed.
It
went
on
through
the trees
and
past
the
little
towns
and
over
the
hills,
and
there was
no
getting
to
the
end
of
it.
The
goal
was
a
going-toward rather
than
an
arriving,
and
from
the
top
of
the
next
rise there
was
always
a
new
vista.
The
march
toward
it
led through
wonder
and
terror
and
deep
shadows,
and
the sunlight
touched
the
flags
at
the
head
of
the
column.
For
a
long
time
the
Army
of
the
Potomac
had
wanted
to enter
Richmond,
and
it
almost
seemed
as
if
that
was
the object
of
everything
that
it
did,
but
when
Richmond
fell
at last
the
army
did
not
get
within
twenty-five
miles
of
it—not until
long
afterward,
when
everything
was
over
and
the
men were
going
home
to
be
civilians
again.
Most
of
the
army did
not
even
get
into
Petersburg,
which
had
been
within sight
but
out
of
reach
for
so
long.
Instead
the
troops
moved off
on
roads
that
led
to
the
west,
pounding
along
in
hot pursuit
of
Lee's
army—no
victory
was
final
as
long
as
that ragged
army
still
lived
and
moved.
Only
the
IX
Corps
entered
Petersburg,
and
it
did
so
chiefly because
the
town
lay
right
across
its
path.
It
moved
in
on the
morning
of
April
3
a
few
hours
after
the
last
Confederate soldiers
had
moved
out.
The
corps
came
in
proudly,
flags uncased
and
bands
playing,
but
the
town
was
all
scarred
by months
of
shellfire,
the
cheers
and
the
music
echoed
through deserted
streets,
and
there
seems
to
have
been
a
desolate, empty
quality
to
it
all
that
made
the
jubilation
sound
forced and
hollow.
Officers
and
newspapermen
who
had
breakfast in
Petersburg
hotels
found
the
fare
poor,
as
was
natural
in
a starved
beleaguered
city,
and
noticed
that
the
hotel
proprietors
would
not
accept
Confederate
money.
In
the
dwelling
houses
the
blinds
were
all
drawn,
and here
and
there
an
expressionless
face
could
be
seen
peering out
through
parted
curtains.
Men
remarked
that
there
was not
a
woman
to
be
seen;
only
a
few
old
men,
and
an
occasional
cripple,
and
of
course
an
awed
concourse
of
colored folk.
One
officer
saw
Grant
standing
in
a
doorway,
gesturing with
his
cigar
as
he
dictated
orders
to
his
staff,
utterly
matter-of-fact,
displaying
rather
less
emotion
and
pride
than
the ordinary
brigadier
would
show
at
a
routine
review
of
troops, and
looking
"as
if
the
work
before
him
was
a
mere
matter of
business
in
which
he
felt
no
particular
enthusiasm
or care."
1
In
refusing
to
allow
the
army
to
relax
and
celebrate
Grant was
simply
following
common
sense.
From
his
viewpoint
he had
not
actually
won
anything
yet.
From
the
moment
when he
headed
down
to
the
Rapidan
fords,
eleven
months
and many
thousands
of
lives
ago,
he
had
had
just
one
idea
in mind:
to
destroy
Lee's
army.
Now
Richmond
had
fallen,
and so
had
Petersburg,
but
Lee's
army
still
lived
and
if
it
was
to be
destroyed
it
must
first
be
caught.
It
would
never
be
caught by
pursuers
who
let
days
or
hours
go
to
waste;
not
that
army, led
by
that
general.
So
the
Army
of
the
Potomac
would
keep moving,
and
if
there
was
to
be
a
celebration
it
could
come later.