The first gun recoiled, then down the line the others fired nearly in unison. Walter moved in protectively to Lee's side. Several seconds later they heard the shells… all of them aimed high, arcing up over the trees, all of them solid shot, no explosions, only the sound of their passage as they disappeared to the rear.

Lee raised his field glasses and scanned the line. The gun crews were at work, this time turning up the elevation screws, lowering the muzzles.

Grant had just given him a warning. The next salvo would plow straight into the Confederate lines.

Gunners to either side of him were unlimbering, looking nervously across the field, officers already shouting for case shot with three-second fuses.

Time seemed to drag out. The last of the Yankee gunners loaded, rammers stepping back, sergeants hooking in lanyards, rolling them out and waiting, facing their commanders, waiting for the order to unleash hell.

Lee looked over at his men at the edge of the woods. Bayonets had been fixed, men were arrayed, breathing hard, eyes focused across the field. Armistead was nearby, arm in sling, sword drawn, his hat on its tip.

Some of the men were kneeling, praying, many reciting the Twenty-third Psalm.

Still the Yankees were waiting. They should have opened the bombardment, fifty guns slashing across the field, trees shattering, guns dismounting, men screaming, his batteries smothered under, Armistead then going forward into the maelstrom.

Grant waited, not firing.

"Thy will be done, Lord," Lee said out loud.

You are not to fire until ordered to do so by me!" Grant kept shouting, as he rode back and forth just behind the gunners, Henry Hunt riding by his side. "Relax, boys, relax," Hunt interjected. "If they come, it'll be Malvern Hill all over again. Just relax, boys, relax."

Men stood tense, wide-eyed, staring across the field. The rebel skirmish line had stopped a third of the way into the field. Most were kneeling in the high grass. "A flag!" someone shouted. "A white flag!" A staff officer was pointing to a Confederate officer riding forward at a gallop, his saber raised, a dirty white towel or strip of cloth tied to the point. "Struble and Ely!"

The two left his side, Struble still with his white flag, Ely by his side. The two galloped out and met the officer halfway. They talked but for a moment, then the three turned about, Ely and Struble now galloping back, Ely standing tall in his stirrups, hat off, waving it.

"It's over!" he screamed, "Lee's surrendering! It's over!"

Men stood silent for a moment, comrades turning to each other in amazement, and then the cheering began. A wild, triumphal roar.

"Silence!" Grant screamed, and he rode out in front of the guns, turning to face his men.

"Silence!"

The cheering died away.

"There will be no demonstrations, no cheering," he cried, his voice carrying across the field. "Gunners, stand down, remove primers carefully. Infantry to stack arms and remain at ease!"

All fell silent and more than one man removed his hat. In an instant the mood was transformed. Some shook hands, as comrades of so many hard-fought campaigns looked at each other. "Looks like we'll live out this day," "My God, we're going home," "It's over, it's really over," rippled up and down the line. Some went to their knees in prayer, some wept, some laughed and began to slap each other on the back, others stood silent, heads bowed.

Ely and Struble came up to Grant.

"Sir, General Lee wishes to discuss terms."

Grant said nothing.

"Sir, I suggested the abandoned chapel in one hour," Struble interjected, pointing to the dilapidated church at the crossroads.

"That's fine."

Grant turned about and rode back through his line to his headquarters, where Elihu stood on the front porch. "It's over," Grant said.

Elihu smiled, then lowered his head and wept.

Monocacy Church, Maryland 8:00 A.M.

All were silent as Gen. Robert E. Lee rode through his lines, flanked by Walter, Longstreet, and Judah Benjamin. Men lined the road to either flank, battle flags held aloft, and he read the golden lettering on many of them… FAIR OAKS, GAINES MILL, MALVERN HILL, CEDAR MOUNTAIN, SECOND MANASSAS, SHARPSBURG, FREDERICKSBURG… so many of them fields of triumph. Some of Beauregard's men were deployed as well, SHILOH, CORINTH, CHARLESTON…

Beauregard was nowhere to be found. Lee had not seen him since the beginning of the retreat.

The men stood at present arms, but as he passed them, a shudder ran through the lines, men taking their hats off, some holding them silently aloft.

"God bless you, General," "We're with you, Marse Robert," "Tell us to go back in and we will," an officer cried out.

Lee paused and looked over at the man.

"That time has passed," Lee said quietly, and the man lowered his head and stepped back into the ranks.

They passed Armistead's Brigade, the general standing at the center front, saluting as Lee rode by. From the corner of his eye, he saw Pickett standing behind the men.

"I thought that man was no longer with this army," Lee whispered, vexed.

He pushed the anger in his heart aside and continued through the cool damp woods, where yet more men were drawn up, and then back out into the sunlight. The batteries on his side were still deployed, but guns had been unprimed, crews leaning against their pieces, one crew gathered around a smoking fire, trying to cook a meal. All looked up as he passed; all were silent.

Walter pushed out ahead, again holding aloft the dirty white towel tied to the tip of his sword. He waved it, and from the other side of the field a flag was waved in response, a cavalcade of a half dozen riders setting forth.

To his surprise, a troop of Union cavalry, joined by several Confederate troopers, was already at the chapel with brooms and shovels, cleaning out the inside even as they approached. The skirmish lines from both sides had slowly drawn closer, at last came together, and men were leaning on their rifles, sharing tobacco, smoking, chatting freely, watching as the generals from both sides approached.

As Lee rode up, a minute or so ahead of Grant, Phil Duvall came out and saluted.

"Sir, the inside was a bit of a mess. Chapel was abandoned. Unfortunately some Yankee troopers used it as a stable last year. I think we've got it fixed up, though."

Lee dismounted and walked to the entryway. It was a small Episcopal church and he took comfort in that. A cornerstone indicated it had been dedicated more than a hundred years before, in 1747. Several windows were broken. Within, there were clouds of dust as troopers, Union and Confederate, side by side, hurriedly swept the floors and took some pews, arranging them to face each other, a table in the middle, with two chairs, an inkwell and paper on the table.

He took a deep breath and waited.

Grant came riding up. He was mud-splattered, wearing the shell jacket of an ordinary infantryman, the only mark of rank the three stars on his shoulder. He was joined by a half dozen officers, most of whom Lee did not recognize, except for Winfield Scott Hancock, who gave a salute, which Lee returned.

The Union officers dismounted.

There was an awkward pause, then Walter and Ely Parker took over, offering introductions, the men shaking hands.

"Gentlemen," Ely finally said, motioning them into the chapel. They walked in, the dust having cleared with all the windows open, a cool breeze wafting in.

Grant walked over to the table in the center of the chapel and motioned for Lee to join him on the other side.

Grant cleared his throat nervously.

"General Lee, I am not sure if you recall. Back in Mexico, with General Scott, we met on several occasions."

Lee, taking off his hat, sat down, smiled, and shook his head.