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. He and Stuart had bitterly quarrelled, and the general had court-martialed the colonel. It is scarcely too much to say that they had been deadly enemies. For the first time now, since their collision, they met. But on this day their enmity seemed dead. The two men about to die grasped each other’s hands. “They are pressing you back, colonel!” exclaimed Stuart. “Yes, general, I have but three skeleton squadrons! and you see their force.” “You are right. You have done all that any man could. Can you hold this cut?” “I will try, general.” Their glances crossed. Never was Stuart’s face kinder. “If you say you will, you will do it! Hold this position to the last, colonel.” “I’ll hold it until I die, general.”[1] [Footnote 1: His words.] With a pressure of the hand they parted. Fifteen minutes afterward, Pate was dead. Attacked at once in front and on both flanks in the road, his little force had been cut to pieces. He fell with three of his captains, and his handful were scattered. Stuart witnessed all, and his eye grew fiery. “Pate has died the death of a hero!”[1] he exclaimed. [Footnote 1: His words.] “Order Wickham to dismount his brigade, and attack on the right!” he added to Lieutenant Garnett, aid-de-camp. Twenty minutes afterward, Wickham’s men were seen advancing, and driving the enemy before them. 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.