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!”