Part 89 (1/2)
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, Ma.r.s.e 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.
Taylor handed his order to a dust-covered courier.
”Take this to Fitz Lee.”
The courier scratched his head.
”I don't know General Fitz Lee, sir.”
”The devil you don't. What division are you from?”
”Dunno, sir. Been cut to pieces so many times and changed commanders so much I dunno who the h.e.l.l I belong to--”
”How'd you get here?”
”Detailed for the day.”
”You know General John B. Gordon?”
The dusty figure stiffened.
”I'm from Georgia.”
”Take this to him.”
Taylor handed the man his order as the thunder of a line of artillery opened on the left.
”Which way is General Gordon?” the courier asked.
”That's what I want to know. Get to him. Follow the line of that firing.
You'll find him where it's hottest. Get back here quick if you have to kill your horse.”