SHADOWS
I insert here an extract from my diary:
“Croley Hill, Sunday July 19th, 1864.
Just as we were leaving for Church the paper came and there in it was
the dreadful intelligence that my cousin Gen’l Johnston Pettigrew, who
was wounded on the 17th had died of his wounds. It is too dreadful! If I
could I would hope that this, like the first might be a false report,
but something tells me it is true.... Next to Uncle (James L. Petigru)
he was the light of the family, so clever, so learned, so noble; and how
I have almost adored him in his nobleness and wisdom; how I have sat and
listened to Uncle and himself talking until I thought nothing could ever
be as brilliant and pleasant as that; but now both have gone and we
shall never see their equals again.... I am glad I have Cousin
Johnston’s beautiful book ‘Spain and the Spaniards’ which he gave me. We
heard he was wounded at Gettysburg but his name was not mentioned among
the generals and never since, so we supposed it was a mistake, and
_Now_....” This was a terrible blow and distress. After this, sad news
kept coming in of reverses, and things looked dark. The hospitals were
in great need of stimulants and mamma determined to send the rye she had
made to the still about twenty miles away and have it made into whiskey.
Daddy Aleck took it and told of the dangers he had encountered on the
way, so that when it was finished, he was afraid to go for it alone, and
mamma told Jinty and me we must ride along with him.
About this time my cousin, Captain Phil Porcher, of the navy, went out
on a little vessel, the _Juno_, which had been built in Charleston
harbor to run the blockade, and nothing was ever heard of him or of any
of the crew or officers. Weeks passed into months and not a word of the
fate of the boat. It was terrible for Aunt Louise and her daughters.
Mamma wrote and begged them to come and stay with us, and they came. It
was dreadful to see their sufferings. My aunt was a beautiful and heroic
figure. They would not act as though they had heard of his death, for
each day there was the hope that when the paper came there would be some
news of him. They tried so hard to be cheerful and hope against hope.
But no news ever did come. It remains one of the mysteries of the
deep.”[5]
Phil Porcher was a gallant, charming, and exemplary man, and the
greatest loss to the whole family and to the country.