The retreat from Laurel Hill
[Correspondence of the Richmond Dispatch.]
Monterey July 25, 1861.
After the battle of Cheat river, your correspondent noted as rear guard, which gave him an opportunity of witnessing many scenes of distress.
The foot soldiers, who were exhausted by extraordinary labor — some of them quite worn out before they left Laurel Hill — were scattered along the roadside in great numbers.
About ten miles from the battle-field, I saw a soldier standing in perplexity and distress — He appealed to me to advice him; said he was wounded, and could proceed no further.--I called to the lady of the house, in whose yard he was standing, and told her to promise to dress his wound and to attend to him. Manifesting the deepest interest, she said she would, and if the enemy passed she promised to conceal him. The young man's name is Overton, from Amelia.
As I rode on, my attention was arrested by a scene of deep interest to me. A baggage wagon had been abandoned; in it was a Secession flag.
A noble Georgian came up and exclaimed, "My God, gentlemen, are you going to leave this flag, to fall into the hands of the enemy?" Thus saying, he tore it from the staff, and wrapped it around him, exclaiming that he would die in its folds rather than permit it to be taken.
And although very feeble, I saw him many miles marching with it around him. Near the same spot I saw the Captain of a company from Amelia, completely exhausted and not knowing what to do. I believe he rather contemplated taking to the mountain side, and after resting to make his way as best he could Just then a private in his company rode up, inquiring if anybody had seen Captain P. I forgot to mention that the faithful servant of the Captain was by his side and swore to die by him. The last I saw of them, the private was before, the negro in the middle, and the Captain behind, all on the same horse, plodding their weary way. Soon after, as I rode on, I met an old acquaintance sitting on a rock by the road.
He said he could march no farther, but he did not much complain.
He said he would go to a neighboring house, dry his feet, rest, and follow on when able.
I was deeply affected at seeing an old companion thus afflicted.
I asked him if he needed money, resolved to share my purse with him. He said he had money.
I have not heard from him since, but no doubt he is safe from danger.
His name is Wm. Deavenport, of the Keysville Company.
I saw many other scenes of interest, but have no time to write.
