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Another narrative.

Grafton, Virginia, July 15, 1861.
“The day after the battle,” and all was quiet, where but a few hours before armies had contended. The dead of the enemy were collected on the field and buried, with those who died at the hospital, at night. The brave young Georgian who stood by the side of his equally brave General when the Virginians slunk away at the presence of our troops, was honored with a separate burial in the orchard back of Mr. Carrick's house. A simple tomb, with an inscription in pencil to note his bravery in that deadly hour, marks his place of final rest. The body of General Garnett was placed in a substantial coffin of rough boards, and it was determined to forward it to Rowlesburg, and thence to Grafton, where a metallic coffin could be procured, and the remains preserved subject to the order of his friends.

General Garnett was a cousin of the noted ex-Congressman, and was purely a military character by choice and education. He graduated at West Point in 1841, at the same time with one of General Morris's staff, who was for a time his room-mate. He distinguished himself in the Mexican war, and has since held important positions in the service of the Government and his native State. He chose to strike the hand that had bestowed honors upon him, and prove that if republics are sometimes ungrateful there are those who can be ungrateful to republics. In person General Garnett was about five feet eight inches, rather slenderly built, with a fine, high arching forehead, and regular and handsome features, almost classic in their regularity and mingled delicacy and strength of beauty. His hair, almost coal black, as were his eyes, he wore long on the neck, in the prevailing fashion among the Virginia aristocracy. His dress was of fine blue broadcloth throughout, and richly ornamented. The buttons bore the coat of arms of the State of Virginia, and the star on his shoulder-strap was richly studded with brilliants.

Major Gordon was detailed to convey the body to Grafton, via Rowlesburg, and to return his sword, (evidently a family relic, and presented by Gen. George M. Brooke,) and other personal effects, to his family. The correspondents of the Commercial and Gazette, and Mr. Ricketts, (one of four brothers in the Indiana Seventh, all as brave and true men as are in the army,) were to act as escorts. A mule team, attached to an ambulance which had been captured the previous day, were the best outfit we could find for the purpose of the 30 miles of rough mountain travel before us.

Shaking hands with a host of friends we had formed in the army, we started on our journey a little before noon on Sunday. Our progress was exceedingly slow, owing to the intolerable condition of the road, but we hoped to make better time after passing St. George, where, we were informed, we would reach the pike leading to Rowlesburg. For four miles out we followed the track of the rebel fugitives, who, fearing to go to St. George, struck off in a bye-road at Horseshoe Run, with the intention of crossing the mountains into Hardy County, and proceeding to Winchester to join General Johnston.

The road they had taken was impracticable to wagons and artillery, and we were informed by a Union woman at the ford near Horseshoe Run that they had left their baggage train two miles up the river, of which fact Gen. Morris was advised by a special courier. The lady told us that a few days before the rebels had come to her husband's house, and taken all his grain; that they returned next day, took his horse, tied his hands, and lashing him to another prisoner, marched him off between files of soldiers, while the officer rode his horse. The woman was nearly frantic, and begged us, if the rebels were captured, to return her husband to her alive. She further stated that many of their wagons were filled with wounded men, whose groans were heart-rending, and their blood dripping from the wagons along the road. Notwithstanding the outrages heaped upon her, she returned good for evil, and when the distressed fugitives begged at her door for an onion, a piece of bread, any thing to save them from actual starvation, she gave them all she had; and so eager were they, that when she put corn cakes on the griddle, they would snatch them off half baked, and “bolt” them while hot enough to blister their throats. But these instances of the terrible distress that surrounded them must answer, out of many similar incidents. Straggling parties were to be found in every direction, and our troops could, and probably did, take hundreds of them prisoners.

We hoped for a better road after we left St. George, but were disappointed. The pike, so little travelled that grass grows in it now, follows the tortuous course of Cheat River, and through a country as wild and picturesque as that of Switzerland. The road is an eternal zigzag, creeping along the shelving steeps of the mountains, with so little room in many places that six inches from the track would plunge a vehicle a thousand feet down precipitate gorges and dismal ravines. At one place we came to two trees blown down by the tempest across the road, and by dint of hard lifting we succeeded in getting the wagon over. Had we failed in this, our only course would have been to turn back.

When the sun went down we were still sixteen miles from Rowlesburg, with the most dangerous part of the road to travel. Once our hind wheels slipped off, and it was with the utmost difficulty that we prevented the whole going over a tremendous precipice. Proceeding at a snail's pace, we almost felt our way, and were aided over the most dangerous part of the road by two Union men, who, with their families, took to the woods on our first approach,

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Robert S. Garnett (3)
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