Dear Sarah

Major Sullivan Ballou, who, during the time of the American Civil War, wrote a

touching letter to his wife—just one week before he was killed in the Battle

of Bull Run.



"July 14, 1861

"Camp Clark, Washington

"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 am . . . perfectly

willing . . . to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this

Government. . . .



"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 on

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 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 grown 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 battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive

[me] my . . . faults, and the many 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 in 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."