The retreat from Fisher’s Hill to New Market will never be forgotten by those who participated therein as long as they live.  To recapitulate the movements of the last thirty-six hours and reflect upon what had been accomplished, it seems beyond human endurance.  No retreat in history, even the famous retreat of Xenophon, while of greater duration and under different circumstances, still it did not equal that of Early during the same length of time.  From midnight of the 18th the troops were in line, crossing the river some miles in the distance before daylight, storms and takes the enemy’s lines by nine o’clock, incessant fighting for five or six miles (either fighting or on the run), then a stampede of the same distance, then back across the river and to camp, a two hours’ halt, a forced march of thirty-five miles—­making over fifty miles in all—­without eating or drinking, only as could be “caught up” on the march or run.  Up the valley this routed, disorganized rabble (it could not be called an army) marched, every man as he saw fit, here a General at the head of a few squads called regiments, or a Colonel or Captain with a few men at his heels, some with colors and some without; here a Colonel without a man, there a score or two of men without a commissioned officer.  A great number had abandoned their arms and accoutrements, others their scanty baggage.  Some regiments had lost their whole supply trains that hauled their cooking utensils and provisions.  Then we could see artillerymen with nothing but a few jaded horses, their cannons and caissons left in the general upheaval and wreck at the Stone Bridge, or on the field of battle; Quartermasters, with their teamsters riding or leading their horses, their wagons abandoned or over run by others in the mad rush to escape across the bridge before it was blocked.  Along the road loose horses roamed at will, while the sides of the pike were strewn with discarded blankets, tent flies, oilcloths and clothing, the men being forced to free themselves of all surplus incumbrances in order to keep up with the moving mass.  At one place we passed General Early, sitting on his horse by the roadside, viewing the motley crowd as it passed by.  He looked sour and haggard.  You could see by the expression of his face the great weight upon his mind, his deep disappointment, his unspoken disappointment.  What was yesterday a proud, well-disciplined army that had accomplished during the first part of the day all, or more, that even the most sanguine General could have expected—­crossed rivers, pulled themselves over the mountains, assaulted and surprised an enemy who lay in feeling security behind almost impregnable fortifications, routed and driven them from the field, capturing almost the whole camp equipage with twenty field pieces—­now before him poured, the same victorious army, beaten, stampeded, without order or discipline, all the fruits of victory and his own camp equipage gone, his wagon trains abandoned, the men without arms, his cannoneers