Colext/Macondo
Cantina virtual de los COLombianos en el EXTerior
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La siguiente es una carta escrita por el Mayor Sullivan Ballou, First Rhode
Island Volunteers, ejercito de EUA, a su esposa Sarah Hart Shumway, una
semana antes de la primera batalla de la guerra civil (Battle of Bull Run I,
Manassas, Virginia) en donde el Mayor Sullivan Ballou muri�. Ballou de 32
aNos, era un abogado muy conocido y fue representante en la c�mara de Rhode
Island. Era casado, con dos hijos y ese mismo aNo, se habia enlistado en el
ejercito como voluntario.
Carlos
14 July 1861
Camp Clark, Washington [D.C.]
My very dear Sarah:
The indications are very strong that we will move in a few days -
perhaps tomorrow. 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
- or it may be one of sever 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 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 for me it is 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 often times 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 our
mothers I call God's blessing upon them.
O Sarah, I wait for you there! Come to me, and lead thither my
children.
- Sullivan
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