Every thing turned out exactly as it had been arranged. Stuart retired steadily on Warrenton. When the Federal rear approached Buckland, Fitz Lee came in on their left flank, and then Stuart turned like a tiger, and bore down on the head of their column. That gun we had heard was the signal of Fitz Lee’s attack. Those carbine shots came from Stuart as his men charged. We had set out at full speed to rejoin Stuart, as I have said; but he saved Tom and myself the trouble of riding very far. He came to meet us, at full gallop, with drawn sabre, driving the Federal troopers in disorder before him. The affair that succeeded was one of the most animated of the war. The enemy were completely dumbfoundered, but a part of Kilpatrick’s force made a hard fight. Sabres clashed, carbines cracked, Fitz Lee’s artillery roared--the fields and woods around Buckland were full of tumult and conflict. In ten minutes we had caught up with Stuart. He was leading his column in person. At the head of the front regiment rode Mohun, with drawn sabre, and pressing his magnificent gray to headlong speed. In his eye was the splendid joy of combat; his cheeks glowed; his laughing lips revealed the white teeth under the black mustache. It was difficult to recognize in this gay cavalier, the pale, bitter and melancholy cynic of the previous June. “Look, Surry!” exclaimed Mohun, “we are driving our friend Kilpatrick! Stuart is down on him like a lion!” “You are driving a personal friend of yours, besides!” I said. “Yonder he is--Colonel Darke!” Mohun’s smile disappeared suddenly. He looked at Darke, whose burly figure was seen at the head of the charging column; and that glance was troubled and doubtful. “I am sorry to meet him,” he said, in a low tone. “Why?” “He would not strike me yonder, in Pennsylvania, when I was in his power.” “But he has sworn to kill you to-day!” I exclaimed. “I have just heard him swear that! Look out, Mohun! here they are!” In an instant the two columns had clashed together, like thunder. What followed was a fierce and confused struggle--sabres clashing, carbines banging, men shouting, groaning, and falling from their horses, which trampled over the dead and wounded alike. I was close beside Mohun as he closed in with Darke. The latter had plainly resolved on his enemy’s destruction; and in an instant the two men were cutting furiously at each other with their sabres. They were body to body--their faces flamed--it was rather a wrestle on horseback, than a sword fight. Suddenly Mohun delivered a blow which fell upon his opponent’s sword hand, nearly cutting through the fingers. Darke’s arm instinctively fell, and he was at his adversary’s mercy. Instead of plunging his sword into Darke’s breast, however, as he might have done, Mohun let its point fall, and said:-- “Take your life! Now I am even with you, sir!”