at Sailor's Creek on the 6th, and
a heavy engagement ensued, in which the southern army lost many wagons
and several thousand prisoners.

Lee's band was in a pitiable plight. Its supplies had been cut off, and
many of the soldiers had nothing to eat except the young shoots of
trees. They fell out of the ranks by hundreds, and deserted to their
homes near by. With all hope of escape cut off, and his army dropping to
pieces around him, Lee was at last forced to surrender. To this end he
met Grant, on April 9th, at a residence near Appomattox Court House.

The personal appearance of the two generals at this interview presented
a striking, not to say ludicrous, contrast. Lee, who was a tall,
handsome man, was attired in a new uniform, showing all the insignia of
his rank, with a splendid dress-sword at his side. Grant, wholly
unprepared for the interview, wore a private's uniform, covered with mud
and dust from hard riding that day. His shoulder-straps were the only
mark of his high rank, and he had no sword. Having served together in
the Mexican War, they spent some time in a friendly conversation about
those old scenes. Grant then wrote out the terms of surrender, which Lee
accepted. The troops were to give their paroles not to take up arms
again until properly exchanged, and officers might retain their
side-arms, private horses, and baggage. Anxious to heal the wounds of
the South, Grant, with rare thoughtfulness, allowed privates also to
take home their own horses. "They will need them for the spring
ploughing," he said. The 19,000 prisoners captured during the last ten
days, together with deserters, left, in Lee's once magnificent army, but
28,356 soldiers to be paroled. The surrendering general was compelled to
ask 25,000 rations for these famished troops, a request which was
cheerfully granted.

[Illustration: Grant and eleven other officers watching Lee sign.]
General Lee Signing the Terms of Surrender at Appomattox Court-House.

While all loyal hearts were rejoicing over the news of Lee's surrender,
recognized as virtually ending the war, a pall suddenly fell upon the
land. On the evening of April 14th, while President Lincoln was sitting
in a box at Ford's Theatre in Washington, an actor, John Wilkes Booth,
crept up behind him, placed a pistol to his head, and fired. Brandishing
his weapon, and crying, "Sic semper tyrannis," the assassin leaped to
the stage, sustaining a severe injury. Regaining his feet, h