day. Our loved ones, whether friends or strangers-all Southern soldiers are dear to us-lying dead and dying; the wounded in the hot sun, the dead being hastily buried.
is said to be retreating.
“Praise the Lord
, O my soul!”
June 28th, 1862.
The casualties among our friends, so far, not very numerous.
My dear R. T. C. is here, slightly wounded; he hopes to return to his command in a few days.
, of the Second Virginia, killed.
, of the same regiment, desperately wounded.
But what touches me most nearly is the death of my young friend, Clarence Warwick
, of this city.
Dearly have I loved that warm-hearted, high-minded, brave boy, since his early childhood.
To-night I have been indulging sad memories of his earnest manner and affectionate tones, from his boyhood up; and now what must be the shock to his father and brothers, and to those tender sisters, when to-morrow the telegraph shall tell them of their loss!
His cousin, Lieutenant-Colonel Warwick
, is desperately wounded.
Oh, I pray that his life may be spared to his poor father and mother!
He is so brave and skilful an officer that we cannot spare him, and how can they?
The booming of cannon still heard distinctly, but the sound is more distant.
June June 30, 1862.
We begin to breathe more freely; but he fights as he goes.
Oh, that he may be surrounded before he gets to his gun-boats!
Rumours are flying about that he is surrounded; but we do not believe it-only hope that he may be before he reaches the river.
The city is sad, because of the dead and dying, but our hearts are filled with gratitude and love.
The end is not yet-oh that it were!