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Major Sullivan Ballou
Camp Clark, Washington |
Sullivan Ballou was
born to a poor family in Smithfield, Rhode
Island on March 28, 1829. A lawyer, politician,
and major in the United States Army, he devoted
his brief life to public service.
The following letter, featured in Ken Burns'
documentary "The Civil War,” was written by 32 year-old
Major Ballou to his wife in Smithfield while
serving in the Second Regiment, Rhode Island
Volunteers. Ballou wrote
the letter on July 14, 1861 while awaiting orders
that would take him to Manassas, where he and
twenty-seven of his men would die one week later
at the Battle of Bull Run. |
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
Sources:
Brown University Alumni Quarterly (Nov. 1990): 38-42
Central Falls Free Public Library
Wikipedia

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