This relieved the left, and Wickham continued to push on until he
struck up against a heavy line behind rail breastworks in the woods.
He then fell back, and each side remained motionless, awaiting the
movement of the other.
Such was the preface to the real battle of Yellow Tavern,--the species
of demonstration which preluded the furious grapple.
Stuart's melancholy had all vanished. He was in splendid spirits. He
hastened back his artillery to the point from which it had been driven,
and soon its defiant roar was heard rising above the woods.
At the same moment a courier galloped up.
"What news?"
"A dispatch from Gordon, general."
Stuart took it and read it with high good humor.
"Gordon has had a handsome little affair this morning," he said; "he
has whipped them."
And looking toward the northwest--
"I wish Gordon was here,"[1] he said.
[Footnote 1: His words.]
The guns continued to roar, and the enemy had not again advanced. It
was nearly four o'clock. Night approached.
But the great blow was coming.
Stuart was sitting his horse near the guns, with Breathed beside him.
Suddenly the edge of the woods on the Mountain road swarmed with blue
horsemen. As they appeared, the long lines of sabres darted from the
scabbards; then they rushed like a hurricane toward the guns.
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