It was a stubborn, a superb struggle. Three times the enemy’s guns were charged and captured; three times the Confederates were furiously charged in turn, and the pieces recaptured by the enemy.[1] A final charge of the gray cavalry carried all before it. The Federal artillery was seized upon, and their cavalry driven back--but at that moment a heavier force still was seen advancing upon Stuart from the direction of Kelly’s ford. [Footnote 1: Fact.] It was a splendid spectacle. They came on in solid column, and rapidly formed line of battle on the slope of Fleetwood, with drawn sabres, and flags floating. As they moved they seemed to shake the very ground. I had never before seen so great a force of cavalry drawn up--and the critical moment of the battle had plainly come. At that instant the great field presented a remarkable appearance. Cavalry were charging in every direction, and it was hard to tell friend from foe. Stuart was fighting, so to say, from the centre outwards. The enemy were in his front, in his rear, and on both his flanks. If they closed in, apparently, he would be crushed as in a vice. The iron hand would strangle him. That moment tested the nerves. Stuart’s “heart of oak” bore the strain. He was aroused, stung, his cheeks burned, his eyes flamed--but the man was sufficient for the work. I looked closely at him. “Do or die” was plain on his face. From that instant I never had any doubts about Stuart. He rushed two pieces of artillery to a knoll in front of the line of Federal horsemen. A moment afterward two reports were heard, and two shell burst precisely in the middle of the line, making a wide gap in it, and checking the charge which had begun.[1] [Footnote 1: Fact.] All at once I saw a column of cavalry coming up from the river, and turning to Stuart, said:-- “General, what cavalry is that?” “Hampton’s!” Stuart exclaimed. “Bring it up like lightning!”[1] [Footnote 1: His words.] I set out at full gallop, and soon reached the column. At the head of it rode Young, the _beau sabreur_ of Georgia, erect, gallant, with his brave eye and smile. I pointed out the enemy and gave the order. “All right!” exclaimed Young, and, turning to his men, he whirled his sabre around his head and shouted, “Forward!” The column thundered on, and as it passed I recognized Mohun, his flashing eye and burnished sabre gleaming from the dust-cloud. In five minutes they were in front of the enemy--the men wheeled and faced the Federal line. “Charge!” rose from a hundred lips. Spurs were buried in the hot flanks; the mass was hurled at the enemy; and clashing like thunder, sword against sword, swept every thing before it. Not a single shot was fired--the sabre only was used. The enemy were broken to pieces--what I saw was a wild mêlée of whirling swords, flying horses, men cloven to the chin, while others were seen throwing themselves from the saddle, and raising their hands to escape the keen swordsmen slashing at them.[1]