While quietly sitting on the porch yesterday evening, I saw
a young man rapidly approaching the house, on foot; at first we took it for
granted that he was a Yankee, but soon found from his dress that he was one of
our soldiers, and from his excited manner that there was something unusual the
matter. He was Lieutenant Latane, of Stuart's Brigade. They had been fighting
on the road from Hanover Court-House to the Old Church, and his brother, the
captain of the Essex Troop, had been killed about two miles from W. The
mill-cart from W. soon after passed along, and he put his brother's body into
it, and brought it to W. There he found a Yankee picket stationed. C.
immediately took the dead soldier into her care, promising to bury him as
tenderly as if he were her brother; and having no horse left on the place, (the
enemy had taken them all,) sent him here, by a private way, to elude the
vigilance of the picket, to get M's only remaining horse — for the poor fellow
had given up his to a soldier whose horse had been killed. The horse was soon
ready, and as soon as we saw him safely off, we went over to W. to assist in
preparing the body for the burial. Oh, what a sad office! This dear young
soldier, so precious to many hearts, now in the hands of sorrowing,
sympathizing friends, yet, personally, strangers to him! He looked so young — not
more than twenty years of age. He was shot in four places; one ball had entered
the region of his heart and passed out at the back. We cut a large lock of his
hair, as the only thing we could do for his mother. We have sent for Mr.
Carraway to perform the funeral services, and shall bury him by our dear Willie
Phelps, another victim to this unholy war.
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