It was Robert E. Lee, the one hope of the Confederacy. Even his iron self-control almost broke, as he saw the passionate joy with which he was hailed by the survivors of the gallant gray army he had launched in vain against the bayonet-crowned hills of Gettysburg. A flush almost as red as that of youth crept across his pale cheeks and a mist crept into his eyes. His charger bore him proudly up the grassy knoll where the Union prisoners were huddled together. As his glance swept over them, he noted with surprise the youthfulness of the boy who stood in the front line. Many a boy as young as Tom or even younger was in the ranks Lee led. Many an old man bent under the weight of his gun in those ranks. The Confederacy, by this time almost bled white, was said to have "robbed the cradle and the grave" to keep its armies at fighting strength. The North, with many more millions of people, had not been driven to do this. Tom was one of the few boys in the armies of the Union. "Who is this?" asked Lee, as he checked Traveler before the group. "Thomas Strong, sir," answered the boy. "Your rank?" "Second-lieutenant, sir." "Where were you captured?" "In Ohio, sir, by General Morgan." Tom was faint with hunger as he was put through this little catechism. As he made the last answer, he reeled against the next prisoner, Col. Thomas E. Rose, of Indiana, who caught and held him. Lee misunderstood the movement. His lip curled with disgust as he said: "Are you--a boy--drunk?" Tom was too far gone to answer, but Rose and a half-dozen others answered for him. "Not drunk, but hungry, General." "I beg your pardon," the courteous Virginian replied, "but at least you shall be hungry no longer. My staff and I will postpone our breakfast until you have eaten. Pompey!" An old negro came out of the cook-tent. He had been one of George Washington Parke Custis's slaves. When freed, he had refused to leave "Marse Robert," whose cook he had become. He wore the remains of a Confederate uniform. "Pompey, give these gentlemen our breakfast. We will wait." "But--but--Marse Robert, I'se dun got real coffee dis mornin'." "Our involuntary guests," said Lee with a gentle smile as he turned to the prisoners, "will, I hope, enjoy the real coffee." And enjoy it they did. It and the cornbread and bacon that came with it were nectar and ambrosia to the hungry prisoners. The only fleck upon the feast was when one of them, in his hurry to be served, spoke rudely to old Pompey. The negro turned away without a word, but his feelings were deeply hurt. When the Union officer hurled after him a word of foul abuse, Pompey turned back, laid his hand upon his ragged uniform, and said: "I doesn't objeck to de pussonal cussin', sah, but you must 'speck de unicorn."