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I can vividly recall, even now, after the lapse of years, not a few beaming faces who united in those evening services who were soon summoned to strike golden harps and join in the song of the celestial choir. But the weary march is soon to end, and “the foot cavalry,” are to be at last “caught” by their eager pursuers. Yet ere this occurred the whole army, and indeed the whole Confederacy, was to be thrown into the deepest grief at the tragic fall of Ashby.

Sir Percy Wyndham, an Englishman, who had served as a Captain in the Austrian army, and as Colonel under Garibaldi, and had been given a commission as Colonel in the Federal army, led Fremont's advance on the morning of the 6th of June, when we marched from Harrisonburg across towards Port Republic, and confidently expressed his belief that his long-coveted opportunity of “bagging Ashby” had arrived.

The result was, that by a very simple strategy, Ashby completely turned the tables on his Lordship, and “bagged” him, together with sixty-three of his gallant troopers. But we had scarcely time to enjoy the account of this brilliant little affair, when on the same afternoon we had from the rear the sad report, “Ashby has fallen.” Hurrying to ascertain the truth of the rumor (for he was a near relative of mine), I learned the sad details from General Ewell and others who were present. The enemy having pressed forward more vigorously than usual (doubtless with a view of retarding our column until Shields, who had continued to press up the Luray Valley, could reach Port Republic), Ashby had called for infantry supports, and the Fifty-eighth Virginia and first Maryland regiments had been sent to him. With these he was executing a movement on the famous “Pennsylvania Bucktails” (which proved eminently successful after his fall), when, seeing that the enemy had the advantage of position, he called on the Fifty-eighth Virginia to charge, and had just uttered his crisp order, “Virginians, charge,” when his horse was shot under him. He had extricated himself from the dying animal, and was shouting the order, “Men, cease firing! Charge! For God's sake, charge!” when the fatal bullet stopped the brilliant career of this splendid soldier.

A native of Fauquier county, and a gentleman of high descent and stainless character, Turner Ashby had entered the service at the first sound of the bugle, and when asked at Harper's Ferry “What flag are you going to fight under, the Palmetto, or what?” he produced a Virginia flag and said “Here is the flag I intend to fight under.” He had followed that flag with all of the devotion of knighthood, he had displayed upon numberless occasions a cool courage or heroic daring

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