Following is the letter of Major Sullivan Ballou of the Union Army's Second
Regiment, Rhode Island Volunteers, to his wife Sarah days before he was
killed in the Battle of Bull Run. Ballou wrote the letter on July 14,
1861 while awaiting orders that would take him to Manassas,
Virginia where he was killed on July 28. Ballou, 32, was a lawyer and
father of two small boys, Edgar and Willie, who volunteered to fight for
the Union Army. Perhaps the most eloquent, literate letter to come out of the American Civil War.
My very dear Sarah:
The indications are very strong that we shall move in
a few days -- perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write you
again, I feel impelled to write lines that may fall under your eye when I
shall be no more.
Our movement may be one of a few days duration and
full of pleasure -- and it may be one of severe conflict and death to
me. Not my will, but thine O God, be done.
If it is necessary that I should fall on the
battlefield for my country, I am ready. I have no misgivings about, or
lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage
does not halt or falter.
I know how strongly American Civilization now leans
upon the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those
who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution.
And I am willing -- perfectly willing -- to lay down all my joys in this
life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt.
But, my dear wife, when I know that with my own joys I
lay down nearly all of yours, and replace them in this life with cares
and sorrows -- when, after having eaten for long years the bitter fruit
of orphanage myself, I must offer it as their only sustenance to my dear
little children -- is it weak or dishonorable, while the banner of my
purpose floats calmly and proudly in the breeze, that my unbounded love
for you, my darling wife and children, should struggle in fierce, though
useless, contest with my love of country?
I cannot describe to you my feelings on this calm
summer night, when two thousand men are sleeping around me, many of them
enjoying the last, perhaps, before that of death -- and I, suspicious
that Death is creeping behind me with his fatal dart, am communing with
God, my country, and thee.
I have sought most closely and diligently, and often
in my breast, for a wrong motive in thus hazarding the happiness of
those I loved and I could not find one. A pure love of my country and of
the principles I have often advocated before the people and "the name
of honor that I love more than I fear death" have called upon me, and I
have obeyed.
Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind
me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break;
and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me
irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.
The memories of the blissful moments I have spent
with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to
you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them
up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we
might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grow up to
honorable manhood around us.
I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine
Providence, but something whispers to me -- perhaps it is the wafted
prayer of my little Edgar -- that I shall return to my loved ones
unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you,
and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper
your name.
Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have oftentimes been!
How gladly would I wash out with my tears every
little spot upon your happiness, and struggle with all the misfortune of
this world, to shield you and my children from harm. But I cannot. I
must watch you from the spirit land and hover near you, while you buffet
the storms with your precious little freight, and wait with sad
patience till we meet to part no more.
But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth
and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in
the garish day and in the darkest night -- amidst your happiest scenes
and gloomiest hours -- always, always; and if there be a soft breeze
upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air fans your
throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.
Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.
As for my little boys, they will grow as I have done,
and never know a father's love and care. Little Willie is too young to
remember me long, and my blue-eyed Edgar will keep my frolics with him
among the dimmest memories of his childhood.
Sarah, I have unlimited confidence in your maternal care and your development of their characters.
Tell my two mothers his and hers I call God's blessing upon them.
O Sarah, I wait for you there! Come to me, and lead thither my children.
Sullivan
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