The news spread like wildfire, and in a few minutes the tired soldiers were dancing with joy. I was broiling a confiscated chicken in the angle of a rail fence when the orderly rode up. When I was told of the tidings he had brought I threw the chicken as high as I could, kicked the fire in every direction, and shouted till my throat was sore. Gen. Meade, with a few members of the escort of which I was one, rode into the Confederate lines and to Lee's camp. The Southern commander had only a wall tent fly for headquarters. Longstreet was there and several others whom Meade had known in the old army. Meade and Lee conversed for a few minutes alone. In the meantime a sergeant of Meade's escort and a sergeant of Lee's headquarters guard entered into such a heated argument that the interference of several officers of both sides was necessary to prevent them from fighting to a finish. As we were riding down the slope from Lee's bivouac, a weather-stained Confederate, wearing an old slouch hat, a short butternut jacket, and with a dilapidated blanket wrapped about his shoulders, shouted to Meade. The commander of the Army of the Potomac did not recognize the man who hailed him and who held out his hand, until the rebel said: “Don't you know me, General? I'm Gen. Wise of Virginia.” Then there was another handshake. Wise was the sorriest looking general I saw at the surrender. Lee and Longstreet and some of the others were clad in bright new uniforms, but Wise looked as though he had been rolled in the mud all the way from Petersburg. After calling on Lee, Meade rode over to the Court House and congratulated Grant and Sheridan on the result. The Union generals seemed to enjoy the “love feast.” There was joy and gladness on all sides. A majority of the rebels who surrendered at Appomattox accepted the inevitable with better grace than could have been expected of them after the desperate resistance they had made. But when you put food into a starving man's mouth the chances favor his smothering his hatred if he has such feeling toward you. “Dog gone it, that's splendid coffee,” said a butternut clad veteran who shared my supper the night of the surrender. “You all overpowered us; we couldn't hold out on wind any longer. I like this meat; I tell you, it's good. I didn't know I was so hungry; I must have got beyond the hunger point.” Then came the order for the return. It was not “on to Richmond” this time, but “on to Washington.” We all knew that the war was over--that Sherman would make short work of the Confederate Army in the Carolinas under Johnston.