A Last Letter from a Different Era
The Behind the Lines podcast that we listened to in class highlighted many love letters written during wars. The first one the podcast hosts went over was “My Very Dear Wife” by Sullivan Ballou, an eloquently written letter oozing with affection for his wife with a heart-wrenching story behind it. I noticed that their dramatic reading of the letter cut out parts of it. I understand why they did this; podcasts can’t squander time. For these hosts to fit all the information they want to cover, they must do it timely. Sometimes, that means cutting out unneeded information in a letter. Yet the cut details hold value, too; thus, I decided to look at the letter myself.
In it, I found a man torn between his love for his wife and his love for his country. He chose to fight in the war, knowing its dangers yet understanding that losing brings worse danger. He is willing to serve the government, even if it means death. He has “no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which [he is] engaged” and knows that his death would not be in vain. But with his valiant death comes a great loss, a loss that shakes Ballou to his core. “[W]ith my own joys, I lay down nearly all of yours, and replace them in this life with care and sorrows,” Ballou writes, considering his wife’s emotions. Not only does he consider how his wife would feel, but his young sons, too, leaving them behind to be raised solely by their mother. His battalion is to move soon, which fills Ballou with the dread and realization that “Death is creeping behind me with his fatal dart,” spurring him to write this letter.
His letter comforts doubts, displaying that he did not leave for war without misgivings of what he may leave behind. Ballou states that he searches for “a wrong motive in this hazarding the happiness,” possibly so that he may feel guiltless in return for his love. He finds none, and thus, he stays for the battle. He claims his love is like “mighty cables, that nothing… can break.” Yet his patriotism “bears me irresistibly on with all those chains, to the battlefield,” an unstoppable force against an immovable object.
He moves to console his wife should he pass in battle. He lists many affirmations of his love, requesting she never forget Ballou’s love for her. He states that he will follow her even as a ghost, 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.” He means to calm his wife’s sorrows by claiming that he will always be with her, even if not physically.” Finally, he takes action to smooth over any turmoil he’d forgotten prior. “Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you,” Ballou writes to his wife. If Ballou dies, he’d be unable to repent in person nor do the duties he wishes to fulfill.
What convinces Ballou to write such an elegantly polished letter covering every fear and issue his family may hold within their heart? Other than his deep love for them and the looming threat of his death, evidence points to Ballou’s experience shaping his motives. When he writes that he had “eaten for long years the bitter fruit of orphanage myself,” it elucidates that Sullivan Ballou is an orphan. His past likely held much hardship, yet despite this, he grew to have the temperament of a loving husband and father, as his letter implies. Ballou likely wishes to give his sons a good male role model. However, he realizes that if he dies, his sons will grow up without a father, an experience that Ballou dreads for his children yet empathizes with. As one can see when he says, “As for my little boys, they will grow as I have done, and never know a father’s love and care… Sarah, I have unlimited confidence in your maternal care, and your development of their characters,” his letter extends beyond his romantic love to his fatherly care.
Despite how much his letter refers to his theoretical passing, Ballou still hopes that he’ll live. It’s a small hope, only mentioned fleetingly: “[S]omething whispers to me, perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar, that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed.” However, the context provided by both the podcast and the National Park Service website confirms that Ballou’s worst fears came true, as he did die in battle. Even worse, his letter was never sent. The Confederate soldiers who won the territory desecrated the dead Federal soldiers and ended up throwing Ballou’s body off a cliff. Only when they recovered his body was the letter found. Neither the podcast nor the website clarified whether his wife, Sarah, read the letter after its recovery. In fact, when was it found? Was she still alive? While there was no confirmation, I think she was. The podcast did mention that they buried Sarah next to her husband, which implies they recovered his body and buried it before her death. So, if she did read that letter much later than intended, I can only wonder how she felt. Would it be a reopening to the wound of her grief or the final consolation she needed for acceptance?