bitter cup away from him. “I cannot meet you with a view to surrender,” he answered; “but, as far as your proposal may tend to the restoration of peace, I shall be pleased to meet you.”
And he named Sunday morning, on the old stage-road between the picket lines.
This disappointing word came to Grant
in the heart of the night, where he lay sleepless from many hours of pain in his head.
Hunger, fatigue, exposure, and strain had brought on such torments that he had allowed remedies to be tried, but without avail.
He lay down again.
In the early hours he was found walking up and down outside, holding his head with both hands.
He now wrote a third time to Lee
that he had no authority to treat of peace, but that peace could be had, and lives and property saved, by the South
's laying down their arms.
An urgency, almost an appeal, pervades this letter.
He then declined advice to take an ambulance for the sake of his