My heart is heavier to-day than it has been since this
murderous war began. I daresay I have told you, over and over, as I always talk
of what is uppermost, that my cronies in Columbia, my bosom friends,
were Mrs. Preston, Mrs. McCord and Mrs. Izard. Captain Cheves McCord, only
son of my friend, lies dead at a Mr. Meyers' only a few doors below us. I
did not know he was here. Mr. Chesnut had a letter from him yesterday dated
Fredericksburg. He was wounded at the Second Manassas, two balls in his leg,
and one in his head. Contrary to the advice of his doctors, he had rejoined his
company, and this is the end. He died in convulsions from a pressure on
the brain. His mother is expected by every train — poor thing — I could not
sleep for thinking of her. She seemed to have but one thought in this world — “My
Son.” He is barely twenty-one—is married— his wife a beautiful girl—unfortunate
and miserable and wretched is it all!
. . . I will try to see you as soon as possible, but I will
not, as I had hoped, take the box with you. This unhappy boy, lying dead so
near me, makes the thought of theatres hateful to me just now. . . . I feel you are too true hearted a mother
not to sympathize.
Your friend,
M. B. C.
SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in
’61, p. 83-4
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