My husband has today returned without the dear remains of Willy.
. . . “Slain in battle — Slain in battle”
— he continually reiterates. . . . He
could not know certainly which was Willy's grave; had the one he supposed to
be, opened; alas! for our poor humanity! when he opened the blanket in which
the body was wrapped, he could not distinguish a feature of his boy on the
despoiled face — he tore open the shirt, and there where I had written
it was W. C. Preston! He thought to bring a lock of his hair, — it crumbled to
the touch! It was impossible to have him removed, so he carefully marked the
spot, and left the removal to be accomplished another time.
Such pictures of horror as Mr. P. gives! Unnumbered dead
Federal soldiers covering the battle field; one hundred in one gully,
uncovered, and rotting in the sun ; they were strewn all along the roadside.
And dead horses everywhere, by the hundred. Hospitals crowded to excess, and
loathsome beyond expression in many instances. How fearful is war! I cannot put
down the details he gave me, they are too horrid.
SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and
Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 148-50
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