and every member of the chosen band was in high spirits. Even that army-trodden country, under the circumstances, and with the influence of a beautiful sunset, looked fresh and picturesque.

There was evidently a strong impression that we were able-bodied to the last man; for we skipped along for eight miles without a halt, in a style which impressed our cavalry friends, whom we found about eight o'clock in the evening drawn up in a field at the roadside, to give us the right of way. A voice came from one of the saddles, "I say, boys! what brigade?" "Ah, you recruit!" replied one of the wits of the regiment: "don't you know this brigade? This is Gordon's flying brigade,"—which was received with much merriment. The men were in excellent humor, ready to bandy words with any one, especially the cavalry, whom they began to divine they were to operate with. This elegant repartee was kept up all along the line. Occasionally, officers exchanged greetings, where friends could make each other out in the dark. A hasty word and shake of the hand (perhaps the last), and our cavalry friend is left still watching the column as it marches briskly along. Another cavalry detachment inquires: "What's your hurry, boys? Where are you going?"

"We're going to Richmond. Saddle up, you cowards, and come along!" A soldier in the next company, of an inquiring disposition, asks, "Who ever saw a dead cavalry man?"

We bivouacked near Spotted Tavern, about eleven o'clock at night; and, after this lively march of sixteen miles, we were allowed a comfortable rest, while the cavalry occupied the road.

Resuming our march at ten o'clock next day, we reached Bealton about sunset, and were carefully concealed in the woods. Lighting of fires was absolutely forbidden; and, as the night closed in upon us, the staff remained in the saddle, stationed at different points, silently watching us; and, as morning came again, there they were still on the watch.

Meantime, General Russell had marched his infantry to Hartwood Church, and thence to a point near Kelly's Ford, where General Gregg was concentrating two divisions of cavalry.

The night of the 8th, we moved down very near Beverly Ford into the woods again,—cold suppers and no lights. The men were exceedingly restless at these unusual orders about light and noise. In a letter from one of my men since the war, he says: "The men thought we were being humbugged, and there were many signs of dissatisfaction. They complained because we were not allowed to have fires. Dave Orne was punished (ordered to stand at attention) by you, for snapping a cap upon his gun. It was exceedingly galling to his soldierly pride, as it was the only time he was punished during his term of service. Hyde was particularly insubordinate; and you were placed in arrest, because Company 'D' was so disorderly."

I remember this very well, and my servant standing at a respectful distance, holding my sabre while I was under this temporary cloud. The gallant commander of the "Irish Brigade," as we called Company "H," shared the cloud with me; for he was placed in arrest at the same time. Our sabres, however, were returned to us before we got into the fight; and, in the evening bivouac, our commander made us a most graceful apology over a tin mug of "commissary."

Buford's whole column was now concealed in the woods. The cheerful clank and jingle of the cavalry was, by some means, suppressed; there was no merry bugle breaking upon the still hours of the night; and, as the moon threw deep shadows across the quiet country road, there seemed no trace of "grim-visaged war."

At three o'clock in the morning, Captain Comey, with thirty picked men from the Second Massachusetts, crept down to the river-bank, to see that all was clear for the advance. He reported a large force of cavalry in bivouac on the south side of the river, quite unconscious of Buford's stealthy approach. Indeed, Jones' Rebel cavalry brigade was only a short