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 again, I feel impelled to
write
a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.
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 on the triumph of the
Government,
and how great a debt we owe to those who went on before us
through
the blood and sufferings of the Revolution, And I am willing--
perfectly
willing-- to lay down my joys in this life, to help maintain this
Government,
and to pay that dept.
Sarah
my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me 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 unresistibly with all these
chains
to the battle field.
The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping
over
me, and I feel most gratified to God and you that I have enjoyed
them
so long. And how 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 grown up to honorable manhood,around
us.
I have, I know, but few 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 battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive my many faults,
and
the pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have
often
times been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little
spot
upon your happiness...
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 gladdest days
and
the darkest nights...always, always, and if there be a soft breeze upon
your
cheek, it shall be my breath, as 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.
Major Sullivan Ballou's letter to his wife Sarah seven days before being killed at the first battle of Bull Run.