He bent anxiously over a field map with his Adjutant. His face was clouded with deep anxiety.
"Why doesn't Gordon report?" he cried. "We've sent three couriers. They haven't returned. Grant has not only closed the road to Lynchburg, he has pushed a wedge into our lines and cut Gordon off. If he has, we're in a trap—"
"It couldn't have happened in an hour!" Taylor protested.
"Order Fitzhugh Lee to concentrate every horse for Gordon's support and call in Alexander for a conference."
Taylor hastened to execute the command and Lee sat down under the flower-draped tree.
Sam approached bearing a tray.
"De coffee's all ready, Marse Robert—'ceptin' dey ain't no coffee in it. Does ye want a cup? Hit's good, hot black water, sah!"
Lee's eyes were not lifted.
"No, Sam, thank you."
The faithful negro shook his head and walked back to his sorry kitchen.