“My Very Dear Wife” – The Last Letter of Major Sullivan Ballou

Sullivan Ballou

Major Sullivan Ballou, of Smithfield, Rhode Island, was a lawyer and politician who devoted his life to public service. Ballou was elected as clerk of the Rhode Island House of Representatives and was married the following year to Sarah Hart Shumway on October 15, 1855. The marriage flourished and saw the birth of their first child, Edgar, followed by a second son, William. 

Following the outbreak of Civil war in 1861, Ballou immediately responded to Lincoln’s call for support and entered the military as an officer of the Union Army. On July 21, 1861 Ballou’s regiment took part in the First Battle of Bull Run. One week before this major battle Ballou took the time to write a poignant and eloquent letter to his wife, in which he expresses a range of emotions, from fear and sadness to love, duty and courage. 

Headquarters, Camp Clark

Washington, D.C., July 14, 1861

My Very Dear Wife:

Indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days, perhaps to-morrow. Lest I should not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write a few 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 battle-field for any 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 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 care 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 this 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 with mighty cables, that nothing but Omnipotence can break; and yet, my love of country comes over me like a strong wind, and bears me irresistibly on with all those chains, to the battlefield. The memories of all the blissful moments I have spent with you come crowding over me, and I feel most deeply grateful 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 boys grow up to honorable manhood around us.

I know I have but few 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, nor that, when my last breath escapes me on the battle-field, it will whisper your name.

Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless, how 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 the darkest night amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours always, always, and, if the soft breeze fans your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air cools your throbbing temples, it shall be my spirit passing by.

Sarah, do not mourn me dear; think I am gone, and wait for me, 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, I call God’s blessing upon them. O Sarah, I wait for you there! Come to me, and lead thither my children.

– Sullivan

(This copy, thought to have been transcribed by a relative, is held at the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library.)

Tragically, Ballou was mortally wounded during the battle leaving behind Sarah and their two sons. Ballou’s letter was never mailed but was found among his belongings after his death.

The original copy of the letter has since been lost; with many believing Sarah wished it to be buried with her. Sarah, a widow at 24, never remarried and would move to New Jersey to live out her life with her son, William. She died at age 80 in 1917. 

Sullivan and Sarah Ballou are buried next to each other at Swan Point Cemetery in Providence, Rhode Island. 

Sullivan Ballou Letter

(Courtesy Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum)

A handwritten copy of the original Sullivan Ballou letter to his wife. The copied letter is believed to be transcribed by a relative of Sullivan Ballou. 

The letter has since become a popular reading for a variety of occasions, from weddings to funerals—and, most recently the 2017 Presidential inauguration.

(Image of Sullivan Ballou from collection at US Army Military History Institute)