The spectacle at that moment was picturesque and imposing. The enemy’s force was evidently large. Long columns of cavalry, heavy masses of infantry and artillery at every opening, right, left, and centre, showed that the task of driving back Stuart was not regarded as very easy. The sunshine darted from bayonet and sabre all along the great line of battle--and from the heavy smoke, tinged with flame, came the Federal shell. With their infantry, cavalry, and artillery, they seemed determined to put an end to us. Stuart galloped to his guns, pouring a steady fire from the lofty hill. Captain Davenant directed it in person, and he was evidently in his right element. All his sadness had disappeared. A cool and resolute smile lit up his features. “All right, Davenant! Hold your ground!” exclaimed Stuart. “I will do so, general.” “Can you keep them from crossing?” “I can try, general.” A whirlwind of shell screamed around the two speakers. For the hundredth time I witnessed that entire indifference to danger which was a trait of Stuart. The fire at this moment was so terrible that I heard an officer say:-- “General Stuart seems trying to get himself and everybody killed.” Nothing more inspiring, however, can be imagined than his appearance at that moment. His horse, wild with terror, reared, darted, and attempted to unseat his rider. Stuart paid no attention to him. He had no eyes or thought for any thing but the enemy. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes flamed--he resembled a veritable king of battle. From Stuart my glances passed to Davenant. His coolness impressed me deeply. While giving an order, a shell burst right in his face, enveloping horse and rider in a cloud of smoke--but when the smoke drifted away, he was sitting his horse unmoved, and giving the order as quietly as before. I have not invented this picture, reader, or fancied this character. I had the honor to enjoy the friendship of the brave boy I describe. He was remarkable, in an epoch crowded with remarkable characters. Stuart held his ground for an hour on the high hills of Goose Creek, but it then became plain that he was going to be driven back. The enemy had felt him, and discovered that the game was in their own hands. Now they rushed on his right, left and centre, at the same moment--cavalry, infantry, and artillery rolling on like a torrent--crossed the stream, charged the hill--in a moment a bitter and savage combat commenced for the possession of the crest. Stuart rushed toward the guns. As he reached them a cannon ball carried off the head of a cannoneer, and his horse reared with fright, nearly trampling on the headless trunk which spouted blood. Davenant had coolly drawn his sabre, but had given no order to retire. “Move back the guns!” exclaimed Stuart. “Is it necessary, general?” asked Davenant. “Yes, they will be captured in five minutes!” “It is a pity we can not remain, general. This is an excellent position.”