Stuart stretched himself at full length, surrounded by his staff, in a
field of clover; and placing his hat over his face to protect his eyes
from the light, snatched a short sleep, of which he was very greatly in
need.
The column again moved, and that night camped near Taylorsville,
awaiting the work of the morrow.
At daylight on the 11th, Stuart moved toward Ashland. Here he came up
with the enemy; attacked them furiously, and drove them before him, and
out of the village, killing, wounding, and capturing a considerable
number.
Then he put his column again in motion, advanced rapidly by the
Telegraph road toward Yellow Tavern, a point near Richmond, where he
intended to intercept the enemy--the moment of decisive struggle, to
which all the fighting along the roads of Hanover had only been the
prelude, was at hand.
Stuart was riding at the head of his column, looking straight forward,
and with no thought, apparently, save that of arriving in time.
He was no longer gay. Was it the coming event; was it the loss of
sleep; the great interest at stake; the terrible struggle before him? I
know not; but he looked anxious, feverish, almost melancholy.
"My men and horses are tired, jaded, and hungry, but all right," he had
written to General Bragg, from Ashland.
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