The Literature Corner: My Very Dear Sarah

08-06-11: My Very Dear Sarah

This edition of the Literature Corner is devoted to one of the greatest and most touching artifacts of the Civil War: The letter of Union Major Sullivan Ballou to his wife, Sarah. Ballou was killed on July 28, 1861, but wrote a letter to Sarah on July 14, a letter that reveals his premonition of his impending death. It first came to the attention of most Americans when it was featured in Ken Burn's brilliant documentary on the Civil War.

Ballou was a lawyer. He volunteered for service. He left behind Sarah and his two youngs sons, Edgar and Willie. He was only 32 when he died.

The letter speaks not only of Ballou's love for his wife in intimately touching, timeless ways, but of his love for his country, for principles and ideals beyond himself, ideals worth far more than the life of any one man. It is in this letter that we see the soul of America. We see what countless Americans have seen, what they have always understood, and what they have always been willing to fight and die to preserve. We see what Abraham Lincoln said in the Gettysburg address: "that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."

There are some documents, some writings that every American must know. This letter is among them, and if you were not previously aware of it, you now have the chance, the obligation to ensure that your children know it, and that they know what it means. In this simple, heartfelt letter, we have the answer to those who believe—including our President—that America and Americans—are nothing special. Major Sullivan Ballou reveals the depth and majesty of his soul, of the souls of Americans, and of the shallowness of those who would deny it.

Whenever I read this letter, I weep. I weep for the loss of one of the best of us and for those who have paid the ultimate price that I may live in comfort and freedom. I weep for the purity and intensity of his love for Sarah, and pray that my love for my wife might be so sincere and worthy. I weep that any American would be so base as to not understand Ballou or to ridicule his love of country and his countrymen. And I weep as I fear that too many of us may no longer care to understand this letter and men like Ballou. I pray I am wrong.

I am, however, comforted by one unshakable belief: I know that Major Ballou did meet Sarah and Edgar and Willie again, and that it was a meeting joyous and fulfilling beyond our imaginations. They deserved it, and the just and merciful God provided it.

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