The great soldier, as he advanced that morning, was the beau ideal of a cavalier. His black plume floated proudly; his sabre rattled; his eyes danced with joy; his huge mustache curled with laughter; his voice was gay, sonorous, full of enjoyment of life, health, the grand autumn, and the adventurous and splendid scenes which his imagination painted. On his brow he seemed already to feel the breath of victory. It was rather an immense war-machine, than a man which I looked at on that morning of October, 1863. Grand physical health, a perfectly fearless soul, the keenest thirst for action, a stubborn dash which nothing could break down--all this could be seen in the face and form of Stuart, as he advanced to take command of his column that day. On the next morning at daylight he had struck the enemy. Their outposts of cavalry, supported by infantry, were at Thoroughfare Mountain, a small range above the little village of James City. Here Stuart came suddenly upon them, and drove in their pickets:--a moment afterward he was galloping forward with the gayety of a huntsman after a fox. A courier came to meet him from the advance guard, riding at full gallop. “Well!” said Stuart. “A regiment of infantry, general.” “Where?” “Yonder in the gap.” And he pointed to a gorge in the little mountain before us. Stuart wheeled and beckoned to Gordon, the brave North Carolinian, who had made the stubborn charge at Barbee’s, in 1862, when Pelham was attacked, front and rear, by the Federal cavalry. “We have flushed a regiment of infantry, Gordon. Can you break them?” “I think I can, general.” The handsome face of the soldier glowed--his bright eyes flashed. “All right. Get ready, then, to attack in front. I will take Young, and strike them at the same moment on the right flank!” With which words Stuart went at a gallop and joined Young. That gay and gallant Georgian was at the head of his column; in his sparkling eyes, and the smile which showed the white teeth under the black mustache, I saw the same expression of reckless courage which I had noticed on the day of Fleetwood, when the young Georgian broke the column on the hill. Stuart explained his design in three words:-- “Are you ready?” “All ready, general!” And Young’s sabre flashed from the scabbard. At the same instant the crash of carbines in front, indicated Gordon’s charge. Young darted to the head of his column. “Charge!” he shouted. And leading the column, he descended like a thunderbolt on the enemy’s flank. As he did so, Gordon’s men rushed with wild cheers into the gorge. Shouts, carbine-shots, musket-shots, yells resounded. In five minutes the Federal infantry, some three hundred in number, were scattered in headlong flight, leaving the ground strewed with new muskets, whose barrels shone like burnished silver. “Good!” Stuart exclaimed, as long lines of prisoners appeared, going to the rear, “a fair beginning, at least!” And he rode on rapidly. V. THE CHASE.