range, and let drive at them with terrible effect, whereupon they fled. They afterwards returned in force, and ranged themselves on the other side with long-range guns. Ashby, to encourage the militia, who were raw, advanced to the bank of the river, and rode his white horse up and down within point-blank range of the enemy's fire. When the balls were hurtling thickest, he would rein in his horse and stand perfectly still, the very picture of daring and chivalry.

At Bolivar Heights, when the enemy were firing upon our men and had shot down the gunners at the cannon, he sprang from his horse and seized the rammer himself. He was conspicuous in action at every point. His friends used to implore him not to ride his white horse-for he had also a black onebut he was deaf to every caution that respected the safety of his person.

The key to Ashby's character was his passion for danger. He craved the excitement of battle, and was never happier than when riding his noble steed in the thickest of the storm of battle. There are some minds which find a sweet intoxication in danger, and Macaulay has named a remarkable instance in William III., the silent and ascetic king of England, who was transformed into gayety by the excitement of personal peril. "Danger," says the historian, "acted upon him like wine;" it made him full of animation and speech. Ashby's delight in danger was a royal one. It came from no brutal hardihood or animal spirits; and the Virginia cavalier is thus so far superior to other famous partisans in this war, that he united with the adventurousness of courage the courtesies of a gentleman and Christian, and the refinements of a pure and gentle soul. He was never rude; he was insensible to the humors of the vulgar; and he never even threw into the face of his enemy a coarse taunt or a specimen of that wit common in the army.

Turner Ashby was doubtless as perfect a specimen of modern chivalry as the South even has ever produced. His brilliant daring, his extreme courtesy to woman, his devotion to the horse, his open-hearted manner, and his scorn of mean actions, are qualities as admirable now as in the days of Froissart's Chronicles. After the battle of Winchester, the Yankee women and families of officers sometimes came to Ashby to

get passes. They were surprised to find with what readiness permits were granted. They would say, "Colonel Ashby, you may search our baggage. We assure you we are carrying away nothing which we are not at liberty to do." His reply was, "I have no right to look into ladies' baggage, or to examine their trunks. Southern gentlemen do no such thing." They said, "Colonel, you may search our persons, and see if we carry away any thing contraband." The reply was, "Virginia gentlemen do not search the persons of ladies."

Few young men of Ashby's age could have resisted the intoxication of praise heaped upon him from every quarter. The fact was, no aged and stern devotee to duty was ever more insensible, in the performance of his task, to the currents of popular favor than the young Paladin of the South. The following copy of a letter, written at the height of his reputation to an elderly gentleman of Stafford county, illustrates the modesty which adorned the life of Turner Ashby, and the sense of duty which insured its most brilliant successes:

"MY DEAR SIR: I have just received your exceedingly kind and most flattering letter. Let me assure you that it gives me no little pleasure to know that my course, while doing my duty to my country, meets your approval, whose age and experience make it more to be estimated. That I have not sought selfaggrandizement, or regarded any thing save what I believed to be my duty to my country in this war, I hope it is needless to assure you. When my course meets with the approval of the old patriots, I feel donbly satisfied that I have not mistaken what I believe to be my duty. What you are pleased to say of my brother (who fell as I, too, expect to fall, if my country needs it) is but too true. Had he been spared longer, he would doubtless have been of great value to our country. His fall, however, has not been without its lesson to the enemy, teaching them that Virginians know how to die as well as fight for their liberty. He died without a regret, feeling that his life was due to his country's cause. Please present me most kindly to all my friends in Stafford, and accept my highest respects for yourself.

"Your obedient servant,
"TURNER ASHBY."

We have already referred in the pages of this history to Ashby's share in the several glorious campaigns of Jackson in the Valley; to his participation in the battle of Kernstown; to his famous adventure with the Yankee pickets at the bridge, and to some other of his daring exploits on the front and flanks of the enemy. It was on the occasion of the battle of Kernstown that his energy was exercised to an extraordinary degree in protecting the retreat and annoying the skirts of the enemy. In thirty-eight, out of forty-two days after this battle he was fighting the enemy, keeping him in check, or cutting off his communications. The terrible fatigues he incurred never seemed to depress him, or to tax his endurance. An acquaintance testifies that it was not an infrequent feat for him to ride daily over a line of pickets sixty or seventy miles in extent.

At a later period of the Valley campaign, when Banks returned from Strasburg and our troops were chasing him, Ashby would follow and charge the Yankees as the Rockbridge Artillery poured in their fire. At one time he was riding abreast of three hundred infantry, who were passing along the turnpike. All at once he wheeled his horse, and leaping the fence with drawn sword, cut his way right through them; then wheeling, he did the same thing a second time. Riding up to the standard-bearer, he seized it from him and dashed him to the earth. The terrified wretches never raised a weapon against him. Seventy-five of them, whom he cut off, laid down their arms, and sat down at his order in the corner of the fence, where they remained until his men came up to take care of them. The flag was that of a Vermont regiment. A few days after, Mr. Boteler asked Ashby of the exploit. He drew the flag from his bosom and gave it to him. It was presented by Mr. Boteler to the Library of the State, at Richmond, where it may now be seen-a testimony to one of the most brilliant deeds of Virginia's youthful hero.

A week after this adventure, Ashby was dead. But a few days before the termination of his brilliant career, he received the promotion which had been long due him from the government. Just before leaving Richmond, after the adjournment of the first session of the permanent Congress, Mr. Boteler, who was a member of that body, and Ashby's constant friend, went to the president, told him that he was going home, and asked

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that one act of justice should be done to the people of the Valley, which they had long expected. He wished to be able to carry back to his people the assurance that Ashby should be commissioned a brigadier-general. The order for the commission was at once made out. When the announcement was made to Ashby, he exhibited no emotion, except that his face was lighted up by one of those sad smiles which had occasionally brightened it since the death of his brother.

The manner of Ashby's death has already been mentioned in the preceding pages of the brief historical narrative of the Valley campaign. The writer is indebted for the particulars of that sad event to Colonel Bradley T. Johnson, the brave Maryland officer whose command was conspicuous in the affair that cost Ashby his life, and earned an immortal honor in revenging his death. He takes the liberty of extracting from a letter of this officer an account of the engagement:

"On the morning of Friday, the 6th of June," writes Colonel Johnson, "we left Harrisonburg, not having seen the enemy for two days. To our surprise, in the afternoon his cavalry made a dash into our rear-guard, and was whipped most effectually, their colonel, Sir Percy Wyndham, being taken prisoner. My regiment was supporting a battery a short distance behind this cavalry fight. In half an hour we were ordered forward-that is, towards the enemy retracing the march just made. Our infantry consisted only of Brigadier-general George H. Stewart's brigade, the 58th Virginia, 44th Virginia, two other Virginia regiments, and the Maryland Line-of the latter, only the 1st Maryland was taken back; the artillery and all the cavalry were left behind us. The 58th Virginia was first, my regiment (the 1st Maryland) next, then came the 44th and the rest.

"A couple of miles east of Harrisonburg we left the road and filed to the right, through the fields, soon changing direction again so as to move parallel to the road. General Ewell soon sent for two of my companies as skirmishers. Moving cautiously through the darkening shades of the tangled wood just as the evening twilight was brightening the trees in front of us in an opening, spot, spot, spot, began a dropping fire from the skirmishers, and instantly the 58th Virginia poured in a volley. Another volley was fired. The leaves began to fall, and the bullets hit the trees around. General Ewell came up

in a gallop. Charge, colonel, charge to the left!' And I charged, got to the edge of the wood, and found a heavy body of infantry and cavalry supporting a battery on a hill six hundred yards in front of me. But the Yankee balls came fast and thick on my flank. The 58th are firing into us,' the leading captain said. General Ewell and myself, the only mounted officers, plunged after them, and found it was not their fire. I got back. Up, men, and take that hill,' pointing to my right. They went in with a cheer. In less than five seconds the first rank of the second company went down. The color-sergeant, Doyle, fell. The corporal who caught them from him fell. The next who took them fell, when Corporal Shanks, a sixfooter, seized them, raising them over his head at arm's length. Captain Robertson lay dead; Lieutenant Snowden shot to death; myself on the ground, my horse shot in three places. But still we went forward, and drove the Bucktails from the fence where they had been concealed. .

It was as the brave Marylanders were pressing on in this charge that Ashby, who was on the right of the 58th Virginia exhorting them, fell by an intelligent bullet of the enemy. His death was quickly avenged. As our troops reached the fence from which the shot had been fired, the line of Yankees melted away like mist before a hurricane.

"The account I have given you," writes Colonel Johnson, "of the manner of Ashby's death, is collated from the statements of many eye-witnesses of my skirmishing companies, who were all around him when he fell. I did not see it, though not thirty yards from him, but was busy with my own men; and I am specific in stating the source of his death, as there is a loose impression that he was killed by a shot from the 58th Virginia. I am persuaded this is not so, from the statements of two very cool officers, Captain Nicholas and Lieutenant Booth, who were talking to him the minute before he fell.

"Ashby was my first revolutionary acquaintance in Virginia. I was with him when the first blow was struck for the cause we both had so much at heart, and was with him in his last fight, always knowing him to be beyond all modern men in chivalry, as he was equal to any one in courage. He combined the virtues of Sir Philip Sydney with the dash of Murat. I