usual smile. He rode a gray horse, at a slow walk generally, and smoked a pipe, no matter what was going on around him; and it was always reassuring to see him in the saddle when there was any chance of a fight.

General Pleasanton's staff was partly composed of men who became distinguished. The Adjutant General was A. J. Alexander, of Kentucky, a very handsome fellow, who was afterward a Brigadier General with Thomas, in the West. Among the aides was Captain Farnsworth, Eighth Illinois Cavalry, who so distinguished himself in the coming battle, and in the subsequent operations south of the Potomac, that he was made a Brigadier General, and with that rank fell at Gettysburg, at the head of a brigade of cavalry which he had commanded but a few days. Another aide was the brilliant Custer, then a lieutenant, whose career and lamented death there is no need to recall. Another was Lieutenant R. S. McKenzie, of the engineers, now General McKenzie of well-won fame, the youngest colonel of the regular army; and still another was Ulric Dahlgren. General Pleasanton had certainly no lack of intelligence, dash, and hard-riding to rely on in those about him.

The infantry had now cleared the woods of the enemy's troopers, who were deceived as to the number of our rifles, and showed no inclination to expose men and horses to the deadly fire of experienced infantry skirmishers.

The old, time-honored Second Dragoons, the Fifth Regulars, and that crack young regiment, the Sixth Pennsylvania Cavalry (forming what was known as the "Reserve Brigade"), were massing on the southern bank of the river. The sharp report of infantry rifles, the rising smoke, and the thousand indescribable sounds, with the tramp of fresh cavalry pressing forward to take their part in the fray, showed that the battle was now waging in good earnest. The wounded arrived more rapidly at the ford, stretcher-bearers plying their trade in the hot sun.

The soft, dewy grass of the morning was now kicked and trampled into dry dust. The infantry held the enemy in the open space beyond the woods; while Buford hurled his squadrons, with drawn sabres, upon the Rebel cavalry on the right and left.

A sabre charge, with both sides going at top speed, is, perhaps, the most exciting and picturesque combination of force, nerve, and courage that can be imagined. The commanding officers leading in conspicuous advance; the rush, the thunder of horses' hoofs; the rattle of arms and equipments,—all mingling with the roar of voices, while the space rapidly lessens between the approaching squadrons. The commanders who were seen, a moment before, splendidly mounted, dashing on at racing speed, turning in the saddle to look back at the tidal wave which they are leading, disappear in a cloud of sabres, clashing and cutting; but the fight is partly obscured by the rising dust and the mist from the over-heated animals. Riderless horses come, wounded and trembling, out of the mêlée; others appear, running in fright, carrying dying troopers still sitting their chargers, the head drooping on the breast, the sword-arm hanging lifeless, the blood-stained sabre dangling from the wrist, tossing, swinging, and cutting the poor animal's flanks, goading him on in his aimless flight. In this moment of intense excitement, the Rebels give way on the left. Our troopers follow in hot pursuit. On they go, over the dead and dying. At the sound of the "recall," back they come, to take breath and re-form at the rallying ground to which Ames' skirmishers move forward, to regain their connection and establish a more advanced line of battle. Although the infantry occupied the centre of the line, their operations were not confined to this point. They were sent in small detachments to different parts of the field, to support artillery, and, at times, even to engage the enemy, when opportunity offered. The line officers bore a thorough test of their