July the 14th, 1861
Washington D.C.

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 0 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 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