"Altogether it had been a pleasant day. And as I sat alone, laughing lightly now and then at the memory of some funny story, suddenly a violent ring—and a regular sheaf of telegrams were handed me.
I could not have drawn away in more consternation if they had been a nest of rattlesnakes.
First—[Lt. Col.] Frank Hampton* killed at Brandy Station. Wade telegraphed Mr C to see Robert Barnwell and make necessary arrangements to receive the body. Mr C still at Wilmington. I sent for Preston Johnston, and my neighbor Colonel Patton offered to see that everything proper should be done.
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Frank Hampton
(1829-1863) |
That afternoon I walked out alone. Willie Munford had shown me where the body—all that was left of Frank Hampton—was to be laid in the Capitol.
Mrs Petticola joined me for a while and then Mrs Singleton. Preston Hampton and Peter Trezevant with myself and Mrs Singleton formed the sad procession which followed the coffin. There was a company of soldiers drawn up in front of the State House porch.
Mrs Singleton said we had better go in and look at him before the coffin was finally closed.
How I wish I had not looked! I remember him so well in all the pride of his magnificent manhood. He died of a saber cut across the face and head and was utterly disfigured. Mrs Singleton seemed convulsed with grief. In all my life I had never seen such bitter weeping. She had her own troubles, but I did not know. We sat for a long time on the front steps of the State House. Everybody had gone. We were utterly alone."
*Frank Hampton was served in the Confederate Army under his older brother General Wade Hampton, Hampton's Legion, 2nd Regiment, South Carolina Cavalry. He was killed during the battle of Brandy Station in Virginia, June 9, 1863.
"Two Yankee officers who fought or figured at Manassas have since deserted and come over to us.
I can understand how deserters should be detestable, come they from East or West, North or South.
They, the deserters, are going into our army. General Walker* said, 'If I had a brother killed at Manassas, I could shoot down these two man at sight.'
Mr [Robert Woodward] Barnwell gave that little twittering, nervous laugh of his.
'And then you'd be hanged.'
'Never. Twenty thousand Georgians are here. They would create a counter-revolution before they would permit a hair of my head to be touched.'
Mr Barnwell repeated his offensive little laugh.
'Then you would be hanged. You ought to be hanged if you commit murder.'
This he fired off at regular intervals, and Shot-Pouch Walker literally raved.
'No, no. My Georgians would know the reason why, &c&c.'
Mr Barnwell grew very quiet but continued his fatuous smile and to the last stuck to his original proposition.
'You'd be hanged.'
This made me wretched. Mr Barnwell was right, but why would he say it anymore?
I was so uncomfortable—as soon as silence prevailed, I left the table. I made a good deal of commotion in leaving the table, on purpose—dropped things to be picked up: fan, handkerchief—all to divert them from their madness or folly. And a man is always in such a faze about his dignity—what is due his own self-respect, &c&c&c, and so contemptuous of feminine folly!"
*Brigadier General William Henry Talbot Walker of Georgia received extensive gunshot wounds in both the Seminole and Mexican wars. Each time, doctors held out no hope of recovery. He was subsequently given the nickname "Shot-Pouch."
