Suddenly they recoiled. The head files had stopped,--the horses rearing. The flooring in the centre of the bridge had been torn up--it was impossible to cross. The men wheeled and came back under a hot fire of sharp-shooters. Stuart’s face was fiery. “To the ford!” he shouted. And placing himself in front of the men, sword in hand, he led them through the ford, in face of a heavy fire, charged up the opposite slope, and the Federal skirmishers scattered in wild flight. The Twelfth Virginia Cavalry followed them, and they were cut down or captured. As the column moved on, Stuart galloped along the line toward the front. He had just faced death with these men, and at sight of him they raised a cheer. “Hurrah for old Jeb!” rose in a shout from the column. Stuart turned: his face glowed: rising in his stirrups, he took off his hat and exclaimed:--- “Bully for the old Twelfth!” The words were unclassic, it may be, reader, but they raised a storm. “I felt like I could die for old Jeb after that,” one of the men said to me. Stuart disappeared, followed by tumultuous cheers, and his column continued to advance upon Warrenton ahead of the army. He had ridden on for a quarter of an hour, when he turned to me, and said:-- “I am getting uneasy about things at Culpeper. I wish you would ride back to Rosser, who is there with two hundred men, and tell him to call on Young, if he is pushed.” I turned my horse. “You know where Young is?” “On the Sperryville road.” “Exactly--Rosser can count on him. I am going on toward Warrenton.” And the general and myself parted, riding in opposite directions. I returned toward Hazel River; passed that stream, and the long rows of army wagons; and as the sun was sinking, drew near Culpeper. As I pressed on, I heard the long thunder of cannon coming up from the direction of Brandy. What could that sound mean? Had the enemy again advanced and assailed the small force of cavalry there? Going on now at full speed, I heard the cannon steadily approaching Culpeper Court-House. All at once, as I drew near the village, I heard a tremendous clatter in the streets; a column of cavalry was advancing to the front--soon the crack of carbines was heard beyond the town. A short ride brought me to the field, and all was explained. Colonel Rosser had been attacked by a whole corps of Federal infantry, and two divisions of cavalry--while his own force was about two hundred men, and a single gun. He had offered an obstinate resistance, however, fallen back slowly, and when about to be driven into the town, Young had come to his aid. Then followed one of the gayest comedies of the war. Young was the author of it. You laugh sometimes still, do you not, old comrade, at the trick you played our friends on that October evening?