George H. Gordon, From Brook Farm to Cedar Mountain

Having occasion towards night to visit General Banks at his headquarters, distant about three miles, I called for this horse, jumped on his back, and let him take his own gait. Though it was a still night, I found from the way in which the air was rushing past my face that my horse must be going at great speed; and this impression was strengthened by hearing behind me the rapid gallop of a horse attempting in vain to pass. Presently I heard exclamations from the rider, “Jerusalem!” then sounds of urging to greater speed, until my pursuer was on a run. My horse had not broken his gait, which was a singular mixture of a trot and a pace; for although he moved his legs on one side of his body together (the characteristic of a pace), yet his fore-feet were thrown out with such a proud and lofty shock that it bore every semblance to a trot. I pulled up my horse to a slower gait, when in a moment my pursuer was by my side, exclaiming,--

“ Mister, what sort of a horse do you call that?”

“Why,--a very good horse, is he not?”

“ Good horse!” (with emphasis) “I call my horse a good horse, and I have been on the tight run to catch you and could n't do it, and you only trotting.”

The man belonged to a New York cavalry regiment, so he told me; was a private, and on duty as orderly, carrying despatches to General Banks. It was very amusing to see his look of astonishment and hear his delicate apology as he found he had been chasing a colonel of infantry in the dark,--but, “I do think that horse is a stunner,” he still insisted.

I next tried the horse with those of our cavalry, and found that he beat them all in leaping; indeed, General Hatch, commanding the cavalry, acknowledged there was no horse in his command that could compete with him. His jump was not a flying leap, it was really a jump. He