Never had I seen him present an appearance more superb. His head was
carried proudly erect, his black plume floated, his blue eyes
flashed--he was the _beau ideal_ of a soldier, and as one of his
bravest officers[1] afterward said to me, looked as if he had resolved
on "victory or death." I had seen him often aroused and strung for
action. On this morning he seemed on fire, and resembled a veritable
king of battle.
[Footnote 1: Breathed.]
Suddenly, the skirmish line of the enemy appeared in front of the
woods, and a quick fire was opened on Stuart's sharp-shooters under
Colonel Pate, in the angle of the two roads; Stuart hastened to take
the real initiative. He posted two guns on a rising ground in the
angle, and opened a heavy fire; and galled by this fire, the enemy
suddenly made a determined charge upon the guns.
Stuart rose in his stirrups and gazed coolly at the heavy line
advancing upon him, and forcing Pate's handful back.
"Take back the guns!" he said.
They were limbered up, and went off rapidly.
At the same moment Colonel Pate appeared, his men obstinately
contesting every foot of ground as they fell back toward the Telegraph
road, where a deep cut promised them advantage.
Colonel Pate was a tall, fair-haired officer, with a ready smile, and a
cordial bearing.
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