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to meet the fatal bullet which in turn was to strike him. The death of the white horse who had passed unscathed through so many battles, preceded only by a few days that of his rider, whom no ball had ever yet touched. It was on the 4th or 5th of June, just before the battle of Cross Keys, that he ambuscaded and captured Sir Percy Wyndham, commander of Fremont's cavalry advance. Sir Percy had publicly announced his intention to bag Ashby; but unwarily advancing upon a small decoy in the road, eir beau-ideal of a soldier; his courage, fire, dash, and unshrinking nerve had won the hearts of these rough men; and now when they read upon that pale face the stamp of the hand of death, a black pall seemed slowly to descend — the light of the June evening was a mockery. That sunset was the glory which fell on the soldier's brow as he passed away. Never did day light to his death a nobler spirit. Iv. Mere animal courage is a common trait. It was not the chief glory of this remarkabl
was Ashby, whose name and fame, a brave comrade has truly said, will endure as long as the mountains and valleys which he defended. II. The achievements of Ashby can be barely touched on herehistory will set them in its purest gold. The pages of the splendid record can only be glanced at now; months of fighting must here be summed up and dismissed in a few sentences. To look back to his origin — that always counts for somethinghe was the son of a gentleman of Fauquier, and up to 1861 was only known as a hard rider, a gay companion, and the kindesthearted of friends. There was absolutely nothing in the youth's character, apparently, which could detach him from the great mass of mediocrities; but under that laughing face, that simple, unassuming manner, was a soul of fire — the unbending spirit of the hero, and no less the genius of the born master of the art of war. When the revolution broke out Ashby got in the saddle, and spent most of his time therein until he fell. I
record. There was something grander than the achievements of this soldier, and that was the soldier himself. Ashby first attracted attention in the spring of 1862, when Jackson made his great campaign in the Valley, crushing one after another Banks, Milroy, Shields, Fremont, and their associates. Among the brilliant figurefect type of manhood. He lives in all memories and hearts, but not in all eyes. What the men of Jackson saw at the head of the Valley cavalry in the spring of 1862, was a man rather below the middle height, with an active and vigorous frame, clad in plain Confederate gray. His brown felt hat was decorated with a black feathewho knew him at that time. And when he appeared it was almost always the signal for an attack, a raid, or a scout, in which blood would flow. In the spring of 1862, when Jackson fell back from Winchester, Ashby, then promoted to the rank of Colonel, commanded all his cavalry. He was already famous for his wonderful activity,
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