military cemetery. 27 By the end of that year, some forty officers’ graves had filled the garden, while most other burials were destined for the
Lower Cemetery or to a new section just west of the mansion. 28
That last autumn of the war produced thousands of casualties, but few were felt more bitterly at home than the death of Lt.
John Rodgers Meigs, a son of the Union quartermaster. Lieutenant Meigs, twenty-two, was shot on October 3, 1864, while on
a night scouting mission for Gen. Philip Sheridan in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. Accounts varied, with Sheridan saying that
Lieutenant Meigs had been killed by Confederate guerillas disguised as civilians; Rebels claimed later that Meigs had fired
on them first. What ever the cause, Lieutenant Meigs was dead. He was returned with solemn honors to Washington, where President Lincoln, Edwin Stanton, and other dignitaries joined General Meigs for the funeral. Meigs mourned the loss
of his “noble precious son,” saw him buried among relatives in a Georgetown cemetery, and braced for the final clash of the
conflict, which now seemed infinitely less benign than the “great & holy war” he had foreseen at its outset. 29
The war was almost over. Lee’s army had eroded from 60,000 to some 28,000 men by the time fighting renewed with the springtime.
Abandoning their entrenchments around Petersburg and Richmond, the Confederates made a dash to the west, where Grant blocked
the retreat. Lee surrendered at Appomattox, Virginia, on April 9, 1865. The rest of the Confederacy collapsed soon afterward.
Lee slowly made his way home to Richmond, where his wife and daughters had lived through the last years of war. He arrived
on April 15, 1865—the very morning on which President Lincoln died—to join his family at 707 Franklin Street, a borrowed house
in a burned-out city now occupied by Union troops. Lee handed his faithful war horse, Traveller, to an attendant, acknowledged
cheers from the street, and closed the door behind him. 30
His future looked bleak that spring. In the four years—almost to the day—since he had bid farewell to Gen. Winfield Scott
and turned south, Lee had lost almost everything. Arlington, which held thousands of graves, was gone. He owned no other home.
His investments, moderate at best, had dwindled. He was without a job, a prisoner of war on parole, stripped of the right
to vote or to hold public office. And shortly after arriving in Richmond, he received the unsettling news that his old commander
in chief, Confederate president Jefferson Davis, had been captured while trying to flee the country. Arrested in Georgia,
Davis was brought back to Virginia, thrown into military prison at Fort Monroe, and clapped in irons. 31 There were rumors that Davis would be tried and hanged for his part in the rebellion. 32 Lee faced the same fate. Less than a month after Appomattox, he received word that he, Davis, and other Confederate leaders
had been indicted by a federal grand jury—for treason. 33
Among Lee’s adversaries, none seemed keener to make an example of him than Meigs, still indignant over the death of his son
six months before. “The rebels are all murderers of my son and the sons of hundreds of thousands,” Meigs fumed as word of
Lee’s surrender reached him. “Justice seems not satisfied [if ] they escape judicial trial & execution … by the government
which they have betrayed attacked & whose people loyal & disloyal they have slaughtered.” If Lee and other Confederate leaders
escaped punishment because of clemency, then Meigs hoped that Congress would banish them from American soil. 34 He was not alone in these views, which were strongly held by radical Republicans on Capitol Hill and by some newspapers.
At least one of the latter resurrected the old charge about Lee’s whipping Wesley Norris and an unnamed cousin, both slaves,
who had escaped from Arlington before the war. 35
But with the prospect of national
Lower Cemetery or to a new section just west of the mansion. 28
That last autumn of the war produced thousands of casualties, but few were felt more bitterly at home than the death of Lt.
John Rodgers Meigs, a son of the Union quartermaster. Lieutenant Meigs, twenty-two, was shot on October 3, 1864, while on
a night scouting mission for Gen. Philip Sheridan in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. Accounts varied, with Sheridan saying that
Lieutenant Meigs had been killed by Confederate guerillas disguised as civilians; Rebels claimed later that Meigs had fired
on them first. What ever the cause, Lieutenant Meigs was dead. He was returned with solemn honors to Washington, where President Lincoln, Edwin Stanton, and other dignitaries joined General Meigs for the funeral. Meigs mourned the loss
of his “noble precious son,” saw him buried among relatives in a Georgetown cemetery, and braced for the final clash of the
conflict, which now seemed infinitely less benign than the “great & holy war” he had foreseen at its outset. 29
The war was almost over. Lee’s army had eroded from 60,000 to some 28,000 men by the time fighting renewed with the springtime.
Abandoning their entrenchments around Petersburg and Richmond, the Confederates made a dash to the west, where Grant blocked
the retreat. Lee surrendered at Appomattox, Virginia, on April 9, 1865. The rest of the Confederacy collapsed soon afterward.
Lee slowly made his way home to Richmond, where his wife and daughters had lived through the last years of war. He arrived
on April 15, 1865—the very morning on which President Lincoln died—to join his family at 707 Franklin Street, a borrowed house
in a burned-out city now occupied by Union troops. Lee handed his faithful war horse, Traveller, to an attendant, acknowledged
cheers from the street, and closed the door behind him. 30
His future looked bleak that spring. In the four years—almost to the day—since he had bid farewell to Gen. Winfield Scott
and turned south, Lee had lost almost everything. Arlington, which held thousands of graves, was gone. He owned no other home.
His investments, moderate at best, had dwindled. He was without a job, a prisoner of war on parole, stripped of the right
to vote or to hold public office. And shortly after arriving in Richmond, he received the unsettling news that his old commander
in chief, Confederate president Jefferson Davis, had been captured while trying to flee the country. Arrested in Georgia,
Davis was brought back to Virginia, thrown into military prison at Fort Monroe, and clapped in irons. 31 There were rumors that Davis would be tried and hanged for his part in the rebellion. 32 Lee faced the same fate. Less than a month after Appomattox, he received word that he, Davis, and other Confederate leaders
had been indicted by a federal grand jury—for treason. 33
Among Lee’s adversaries, none seemed keener to make an example of him than Meigs, still indignant over the death of his son
six months before. “The rebels are all murderers of my son and the sons of hundreds of thousands,” Meigs fumed as word of
Lee’s surrender reached him. “Justice seems not satisfied [if ] they escape judicial trial & execution … by the government
which they have betrayed attacked & whose people loyal & disloyal they have slaughtered.” If Lee and other Confederate leaders
escaped punishment because of clemency, then Meigs hoped that Congress would banish them from American soil. 34 He was not alone in these views, which were strongly held by radical Republicans on Capitol Hill and by some newspapers.
At least one of the latter resurrected the old charge about Lee’s whipping Wesley Norris and an unnamed cousin, both slaves,
who had escaped from Arlington before the war. 35
But with the prospect of national
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