From the Northwest.

A Yankee Advance Guard put to Flight--Cheat
Mountain--Lies of the Northern Journals--The
Kentuckians, &c.

CAMP BARTOW, Greenbrier River.
Pocahontas co., Va., Oct. 2, 1861.}

No new act in the drama so long upon the stage in the vicinity of Cheat Mountain, has yet been enacted. No war, or rumors or war, in our locality is (as might be expected) trippingly conveyed from tent to tent by the double-geared tongue of faithless rumor. No news, or camp excitement is rife upon the electric wires of information; but a deep, dull stillness reigns unbroken, except by an occasional courier from our advance pickets reporting a shot or two exchanged without (up to date) loss of a single man on our side. On the 30th ultimo, however, the usual camp monotony was dispelled by bright anticipations of an immediate engagement. A body of Yankees, probably one hundred, and supposed by our pickets to be the advance guard of a larger column, had the audacity to venture within out lines, as though they had "come to stay." They were met by a shower of bullets from our first stand of pickets, who, after firing, fell back to the second stand. About this time our Col. Rust came galloping up, inquiring--"What the hell is the matter here?" and, following quickly upon the heels of our retreating foe with only ten men, saw them no more. Whether fright lent wings to flight, or not, they can best answer; at any rate, their feint didn't pay.--They cannot even make a respectable feint, for, when fired upon, they run like turkeys; then, as these same puppets have done, published through Yankeedom a victory, a brilliant retreat against great odds, &c. Now, I happen to know something about the affairs of the 11th ultimo on Cheat Mountain, and have seen, also, the Northern version.--Of all the sneaking, contemptible misrepresentations on record in Northern journals, this is certainly the lowest, less worthy, and unfit even to rank with a well-told lie. Further notice would be degrading.

Owing to the recent heavy rains, mail transportation to and from Staunton is completely cut off. We have not had a Dispatch for four or five days--a grievous loss, I assure you; for we Kentuckians are deeply interested in the events now transpiring in our native State. After getting a Dispatch, we almost fear to read--fear that the telegraph will announce the imprisonment of father or friendfear that a home, the brightest spot in our boyhood recollection, has been desolated, our old mothers and sisters driven homeless by the accursed minions of the North, and assisted by unmitigated thieves (of our rights and honor) living in our midst, and who have grown fat on our charity. We fear these worst of evils for two good reasons, viz: all we have on earth near and dear to man is on the border, in sight of a State (Indiana) warring to the hilt against us and our institutions. Our enemies, some of long standing, want only the guise of authority and the cover of darkness to pillage defenceless homes, steal negroes, and commit depredations and crimes that devils would blush to own; the second reason is, the possession f our country is being disputed by the two powers. Our homes, therefore, con have not the remotest assurance of safety. Should we, the scattering few who rallied to the defense of our old mother State, under the circumstances, be forced to endure this soul-harrowing torture without the poor privilege of fighting for our homes? No. Patriotism says no. All the better feelings of humanity says no. Our Captain, (S.V. Reid,) the Colonel of our regiment, and every commissioned officer in the regiment, says no. Yet we are required to remain. Why is it? Surely thirty-three will not weaken a command where thousands are in action, when they can accomplish so much for God, justice, and the south in another quarter. Under Buckner we can gather strength; our cause would be as sacred as the vows of Heaven, and if tentless, shoeless, still there would be music in the battle's din.


Richmond Daily Dispatch, 7 October 1861.