Ashby on his famous white horse was riding here and there, exposing himself again and again to the fire of the enemy, who was pressing close.

He nodded to Harry, whom he knew.
"You can report to General Jackson," he said, "that the enemy is continually attacking, but that we are continually beating him off." Just as he spoke a trumpet sounded loud and clear in the edge of a wood only three or four hundred yards away.

There was a tremendous shout from many men, and then the thunder of hoofs.

A cavalry detachment, more than a thousand strong, rushed down upon them, and to right and left of the horse, regiments of infantry, supported by field batteries, charged also.
The movement was so sudden, so violent and so well-conceived that Ashby's troops were swept away, despite every effort of the leader, who galloped back and forth on his white horse begging them to stand.

So powerful was the rush that the cavalry were finally driven in retreat and with them the Invincibles.
Some of the troops, worn by battles and marches until the will weakened with the body, broke and ran up the road.