No more news. It has settled down into this. The general
battle, the decisive battle, has to be fought yet. Edward Cheves, only son of
John Cheves, killed. His sister kept crying, “Oh, mother, what shall we do;
Edward is killed,” but the mother sat dead still, white as a sheet, never
uttering a word or shedding a tear. Are our women losing the capacity to weep?
The father came to-day, Mr. John Cheves. He has been making infernal machines
in Charleston to blow up Yankee ships.
While Mrs. McCord was telling me of this terrible trouble in
her brother's family, some one said: “Decca's husband died of grief.” Stuff and
nonsense; silly sentiment, folly! If he is not wounded, he is alive. His
brother, John, may die of that shattered arm in this hot weather. Alex will
never die of a broken heart. Take my word for it.
SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin
and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 199
No comments:
Post a Comment