Our hearts are overwhelmed to-day with our private grief.
Our connection, Gen. James Mcintosh, has fallen in battle. It was at Pea Ridge,
Arkansas, on the 7th, while making a dashing cavalry charge. He had made one in
which he was entirely successful, but seeing the enemy reforming, he exclaimed,
“We must charge again. My men, who will follow me?” He then dashed off,
followed by his whole brigade. The charge succeeded, but the leader fell, shot
through the heart. The soldiers returned, bearing his body! My dear J. and her
little Bessie are in Louisiana. I groan in heart when I think of her. Oh that I
were near her, or that she could come to us! These are the things which are so
unbearable in this war. That noble young man, educated at West Point, was
Captain in the army, and resigned when his native Georgia seceded. He soon rose
to the rank of Brigadier, but has fallen amid the flush of victory, honoured,
admired and beloved by men and officers. He has been buried at Fort Smith. The
Lord have mercy upon his wife and child! I am thankful that he had no mother to
add to the heart-broken mothers of this land. The gallant Texas Ranger, General
Ben McCulloch, fell on the same day; he will be sadly missed by the country. In
my selfishness I had almost forgotten him, though he doubtless has many to weep
in heart-sickness for their loved and lost.
Bishop Meade is desperately ill to-day — his life despaired
of.
SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern
Refugee, During the War, p. 100-1
