CAMP BEELINGTON,
Laurel Hill, July 17, 1861.

Friend Estill--

... But our trials where not over yet. Some of our men had stayed behind, and we began to fear for their safety. Our fears were not unfounded. On Thursday night the news of our comrade Andrew J. Louther, having been shot was received. The sad tidings of his death cast a gloom over the camp. It seems that he had a sore leg, and concluded to stay behind the army, in order to get a chance to ride in the Baggage train (captured) and while waiting he, with others, was detailed as a Guard for the train. On Tuesday morning the 16th inst., the Train left St. George. After going some two miles from the village, the wagon that Louther and Wm. Koch were on was fired on from the woods. A ball struck Louther in the neck, severing the Juglar vein, and glanced and lodged in his breast, killing him instantly. Three balls struck Capt. Jones of the 6th Indiana regiment, but did not kill him. The guards were immediately rallied and the woods scoured for the assassins, but they could not be found. Louther's body was brought to camp, washed and placed in a coffin. On Wednesday the 17th, at 10 o'clock a.m. the whole Battalion formed a procession and paid their last respects to our comrade by burying him with the Honors of War. It was a sad scene. Standing by his grave were hundreds of strong, hardy men, who for the past three months endured the same hardships, and trials; and like him were indulging fond hopes of being with their friends at home; but know not at what moment they, too, may meet the same fate. The family or our comrade have our heart-felt sympathies in their sad bereavement; but let them not forget that he died in his Country's cause, and that his death will be revenged; even while I write a party has started to hunt those whom they suspicion of doing the foul deed. ...

M. B. DES.

Andrew's sweetheart, Victoria Dorsey, upon learning of his death wrote the following, later sending it and a lock of Andrew's hair to his mother:

"More and more, each day I live, do I feel the painful truth of those words: 'It is to live without the vanished light that strength is needed.' Only those who have lost that light can know how dark earth is without it. Since A. died, my life has seemed dark indeed. Today, the heavy autumn rain falls on his lonely grave and the winds are sighing a requiem over his ashes. No loved one was near him when he died, to wipe the death-damp from his dear brow. His companions on the field of battle were his only mourners. They laid him to rest in his manly beauty, and left him, with the birds and flowers for his sentinels."

"Shortly before his death, he wrote: 'I will see you soon.' The hand that traced these words is dust! The mild blue eyes that looked so tenderly into mine are closed in death; and the gentle lips that never spoke other than kind words are stilled forever! All that is left me now is a shining ring of his brown hair, and a pictured semblance of his almost-perfect face. Yet, I have more than these. His image is graven deeply into my heart; and the sweet assurance is mine that he loved me better than anything else on earth. After a little while, we will meet 'up yonder', where the heart-breaking sigh will not be heard; and where we will dance together forever."