, one of those restless, nervous, energetic and
self-reliant spirits who believe in themselves thoroughly, and make up
in activity what they lack in method, was Colonel of the Harris Light,
and the dawning glory of young Bayard's fame excited a spirit of
emulation, if not of envy in his heart, which found vent in a very
creditable desire to equal or excel that leader in the field. The
brilliant night attack on Falmouth Heights was one of the first results
of this rivalry, and as it was also the initial battle in Corporal
Glazier's experience, we give his own vivid description of it as it is
found in "Three Years in the Federal Cavalry."

"Our instructions," he says, "were conveyed to us in a whisper. A
beautiful moonlight fell upon the scene, which was as still as death;
and with proud determination the two young cavalry chieftains moved
forward to the night's fray. Bayard was to attack on the main road in
front, but not until Kilpatrick had commenced operations on their right
flank, by a detour through a narrow and neglected wood-path. As the
Heights were considered well-nigh impregnable, it was necessary to
resort to some stratagem, for which Kilpatrick showed a becoming
aptness.

"Having approached to within hearing distance of the rebel pickets, but
before we were challenged, Kilpatrick shouted with his clear voice,
which sounded like a trumpet on the still night air:

"'Bring up your artillery in the centre, and infantry on the left!'

"'Well, but, Colonel,' said an honest though rather obtuse Captain, 'we
haven't got any inf--'

"'Silence in the ranks!' commanded the leader. 'Artillery in the centre,
infantry on the left!'

"The pickets caught and spread the alarm and thus greatly facilitated
our hazardous enterprise.

"'Charge!' was the order which then thrilled the ranks, and echoed
through the dark, dismal woods; and the column swept up the rugged
heights in the midst of blazing cannon and rattling musketry.

[Illustration: Night Attack On Falmouth Heights.]

"So steep was the ascent that not a few saddles slipped off the horses,
precipitating their riders into a creek which flowed lazily at the base
of a hill; while others fell dead and dying, struck by the missiles of
destruction which filled the air. But the field was won, and the enemy,
driven at the point of the sabre, fled unceremoniously down the heights,
through Falmouth and over the bridge which spanned the Rappahannock,
burning that beautif