He came to meet
us, at full gallop, with drawn sabre, driving the Federal troopers in
disorder before him.
The affair that succeeded was one of the most animated of the war.
The enemy were completely dumbfoundered, but a part of Kilpatrick's
force made a hard fight. Sabres clashed, carbines cracked, Fitz Lee's
artillery roared--the fields and woods around Buckland were full of
tumult and conflict.
In ten minutes we had caught up with Stuart. He was leading his column
in person. At the head of the front regiment rode Mohun, with drawn
sabre, and pressing his magnificent gray to headlong speed. In his eye
was the splendid joy of combat; his cheeks glowed; his laughing lips
revealed the white teeth under the black mustache. It was difficult to
recognize in this gay cavalier, the pale, bitter and melancholy cynic
of the previous June.
"Look, Surry!" exclaimed Mohun, "we are driving our friend Kilpatrick!
Stuart is down on him like a lion!"
"You are driving a personal friend of yours, besides!" I said. "Yonder
he is--Colonel Darke!"
Mohun's smile disappeared suddenly. He looked at Darke, whose burly
figure was seen at the head of the charging column; and that glance was
troubled and doubtful.
"I am sorry to meet him," he said, in a low tone.
"Why?"
"He would not strike me yonder, in Pennsylvania, when I was in his
power.
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