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 place, and General Robert Ransom had arrived to command the cavalry. On the other side were Hunter, with General R. B. Hayes, afterwards President of the United States, commanding one of his brigades; and with General Cook was Major William McKinley, of Ohio, on his staff, who may be President of the United States unless something else happens. But he already knows from his Lynchburg observations that ‘there is many a slip 'twixt cup and lip.’ Most important of all, presently there was ‘Old Jube.’ At 1 o'clock, June 17th, Early reached Lynchburg. Not a moment was to spare, for as Ramseur's and Gordon's troops went at quick time through the streets of the town, Hunter was in sight advancing in line of battle on its southern border, and McCausland's and Imboden's brave but weary cavalrymen were being driven back. The few troops of Breckinridge, under Wharton, invalids from the hospitals, the old men of the town in an extempore battalion of silver grays, with five or six guns of horse artillery, and the reduced cavalry brigades of Imboden and McCausland, and the battalion of cadets from the Virginia Military Institute, constituted our whole force. The post commander, General Francis T. Nicholls, of Louisiana, since Governor of that State, one-armed and one-legged, rode out upon the lines to cheer the men with the news that the reinforcements were coming. As Hunter's skirmishers were pushing close to the town, and as the cavalry were falling back before them, a few pieces of artillery near the toll-gate, under Lieutenant Carter Berkeley, were doing their best to stop the oncomers. In this condition Tinsley, the Bugler of the Stonewall Brigade, came trotting up the road, sounding the advance, and behind him came the skirmishers of Ramseur's Division with rapid strides. Just then the artillerists saw through the smoke the broad, white slouch hat and the black feather of ‘Old Jube,’ who rode amongst them, and looking toward the enemy, exclaimed: ‘No buttermilk rangers after you now, damn you,’ an expression not to be found in tactics, but of a kind sometimes mixed with gunpowder. Poor Tinsley! his last bugle call, like the bagpipes of Lucknow, foretold the rescue of Lynchburg; but on that field he found in a soldier's duty and with a soldier's glory, a soldier's death.
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