George H. Gordon, From Brook Farm to Cedar Mountain

[143] approached the fence or bar slowly, and preferred to do so at a walk; then slowly rising on his hind legs threw over his fore-feet, following with the rest of his body with a muscular energy that would unseat a careless rider. I found I could travel across the country without stopping to take down fences. I have often seen our pickets stare with amazement as I galloped towards them, taking all the fences in my path. I never lowered anything but the riding-rail of a Virginia fence; and I did that for my own comfort, though I think the horse would have gone over it with urging. It was not long before general attention was attracted to my horse. One could not see without admiring him. His weight was over eleven hundred, and his height in proportion to his weight. His nostril was of enormous size; his ear was large, but well-made and expressive; his tail was handsome and full; his mane soft but not thick, though slightly flowing; his color was a dark bay, with a black streak running from his mane along his back to the roots of his tail Unopposed he was quiet; but mount him, and witness the change! Then his neck arched, his immense nostril dilated, his teeth impatiently champed the heavy cavalry bit; every nerve was strung for instant and intense action. You felt in every fibre of your body that mass of muscle and of nerve, and you knew that there was strength, will, and courage that could be broken only with his life. It was a hard day's work one would have, if he were restless and impatient when he mounted for a day's march. So finely strung was this horse, that an approach to composure was only possible when the rider was calm.

After our fight with Jackson at Winchester, we were ordered to cross the Blue Ridge, to join Pope for his campaign. On our first day's march we passed the place where

“Ashby” (so I had named the horse) was raised. My