April 4, 1865 — Amelia Court House: Lee’s Fateful Delay
The morning of April 4 dawned cold and gray over Amelia County, Virginia. Union Brigadier General Ranald Mackenzie’s cavalry splashed across Deep Creek at first light, their boots and horses churning the water into brown froth. Just a mile south of Amelia Court House lay the Five Forks of Amelia County—roads snaking off like fingers on a hand. Mackenzie’s 1st Maryland Cavalry (U.S.) ran headlong into the 14th Virginia Cavalry. Shots cracked in the mist, horses screamed, and sabers flashed before the rebels fell back toward the courthouse town.
Elsewhere that day, the Federal net tightened. Major General George Crook’s cavalry pushed east with tireless speed. By three in the afternoon, his advance riders thundered into Burkeville Junction. There they swung down from the saddle amid the ruined ties and rails, blocking Lee’s best escape route to the south and west—the Richmond and Danville Railroad.
By evening, the ground shook with the tramp of boots as Brigadier General Joshua Chamberlain’s brigade arrived at Jetersville with the rest of the 5th Corps not far behind. Before the sun vanished behind the pines, these blue-coated soldiers were already digging trenches, their shovels biting into the cold red clay, even crossing the railroad itself. They were the cork in the bottle Lee had planned to escape through.
Meanwhile, to the north at Amelia Court House, Robert E. Lee sat astride his tired gray horse, Traveller, eyes searching the roads in every direction. But the roads were mostly empty, or worse, clogged with exhausted men and muddy, lumbering wagons. Ewell was still far behind, cursing the high water of the Appomattox that swallowed crossings whole. Anderson's men tangled with Devin’s cavalry at Beaver Pond Creek. Gordon was miles back at Scott’s Shop. Mahone was guarding Goode’s Bridge, waiting in vain for Ewell to find a safe crossing.
No cohesive line of march. No unified striking force. Just bits and pieces of an army trying to come together like broken shards of glass.
Lee had expected salvation at Amelia Court House in the form of rations—crates of biscuits, barrels of salt pork, and bags of cornmeal stacked high. Instead, he found only meager stores and a trainload of gunpowder and shells. Hungry soldiers crowded around the empty wagons, cursing under their breath. Lee could only issue a proclamation to the local people, pleading for food. The foraging parties that rode out that day returned empty or nearly so. The fields were bare, the barns stripped clean after four years of war.
As Confederate wagons mired in mud, Union foragers were more ruthless. They ransacked pantries, stripped smokehouses, and left behind stripped fields. Their wagons sagged with food as they fell behind the army on the churned and flooded roads.
Desperate, Lee wired Danville for 200,000 rations. But the telegraph clicking out his plea fell into Union hands at Jetersville. Sheridan read the message and grinned—it was proof Lee was trapped and hungry.
Lee also knew he needed to move quickly if he was to save his army. He ordered that the huge baggage trains and artillery park be reduced by nearly one-third. The best horses were to pull the essential wagons ahead of the army; the weaker animals would haul the rest by circuitous routes or else be sacrificed and burned to keep them from Yankee hands.
But it was too late.
That night, Lee could do little but watch the campfires flicker in the cold air, the sparks rising into a black sky. His army was fracturing behind him, strung out on roads blocked by swollen rivers, crumbling bridges, and the grinding exhaustion of defeat. Some generals cursed the missing pontoon bridges at Genito Road; others blamed the flooded approaches at Bevill’s Bridge and the chaos at Goode’s Bridge.
Lee would later tell his officers that the delay at Amelia Court House was the fatal blow—the reason they would have to lay down arms at Appomattox.
But the truth was harsher still: the Army of Northern Virginia was starving, scattered, and hunted by a foe who gave them no rest. Historian William Marvel would write that Lee needed to keep moving that night—but even more, he needed his army to be whole again.
Yet on the night of April 4, 1865, that dream of a unified force ready to strike was crumbling, and with it crumbled the last hope of Confederate victory.
