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"MY VERY DEAR WIFE"
Sullivan Ballou was a successful, 32-year old attorney in Providence,
Rhode Island, when Abraham Lincoln called for volunteers in the wake of
Fort Sumter. Responding to his nation's call, the former Speaker of the
Rhode Island House of Representatives enlisted in the Second Rhode
Island Infantry, where he was elected major. By mid-July, the swirling
events in the summer of 1861 had brought Ballou and his unit to a camp
of instruction in the Federal capital. With the movement of the Federal
forces into Virginia imminent, Sullivan Ballou penned this letter to his
wife. His concern that he "should fall on the battle-field" proved all
too true. One week after composing his missive, as the war's first major
battle began in earnest on the plains of Manassas, Ballou was struck and
killed as the Rhode Islanders advanced from Matthews Hill.
Regrettably, the story of Sullivan Ballou does not end with a hero's
death on the field of battle and a piercing letter to a young widow.
During the weeks and months that followed the battle, Confederate
forces occupying the area of the battlefield desecrated the graves of
many fallen Federals. As a means of extracting a revenge of sorts
against the Union regiment at whose hand they had suffered, a Georgia
regiment sought retribution against the Second Rhode Island.
Supposing they had disinterred the body of Colonel John Slocum,
commanding the Rhode Islanders during the battle, the Confederates
desecrated the body and dumped it in a ravine in the vicinity of the
Sudley Methodist Church. Immediately following the Confederate
evacuation from the Manassas area in March 1862, a contingent of Rhode
Island officials, including Governor William Sprague,
visited the Bull Run battlefield to exhume their fallen sons
and return them to their native soil. Led to the defiled body, the party
examined the remains and a tattered remnant of uniform insignia and
discovered that the Confederates had mistakenly uncovered the body of
Major Sullivan Ballou, not his commanding officer. The remains of his
body were transported back to Rhode Island, where they were laid to
rest in Providence's Swan Point Cemetery
Of the tens of thousands of letters written in the days leading up to
the First Battle of Manassas, certainly none is more famous than the
last letter of Major Sullivan Ballou. As poignant as it is prescient,
Ballou's epistle captures not only the spirit of patriotic
righteousness that led many men to the enlistment office, but it also drives
home the stark reality that casualties of war were not confined to the
battlefield. There were hundreds of thousands of soldiers who would
not return to their families over the next four years, leaving behind
a Sarah, or a Willie and Edgar who would "never know a father's love and
care." Very few, however, had the foresight or the eloquence to leave
behind a legacy as touching as Sullivan Ballou's to his grief-stricken
family.
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 irresistably 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.
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.
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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
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SULLIVAN BALLOU (ENGRAVING BY J.A. O'NEILL COURTESY RHODE ISLAND
HISTORICAL SOCIETY)
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It had not been much of a "battle," little more than a skirmish by
later standards but it put resolve and courage into the Confederates who
had stood their ground. Richardson's 3,000 were repulsed by the 5,000 or
more under the combined command of Longstreet and Early, and from that
the entire Confederate line took heart. Indeed, some thought this was
the battle, and the war was over, the Yankees repulsed. Beauregard knew
better, of course, but he could also be thankful that McDowell's advance
had been held up a day. It was a day that could prove crucial, for with
the whole Union army on the verge of wetting its feet in the waters of
Bull Run, he needed to buy time in the hope that Johnston could come
from the Shenandoah.
Would Johnston come? There had been anxious days in the Shenandoah
while events unfolded east of the Blue Ridge. General Patterson proved
to be a slow, doddering, hesitant commander, who took his time about
advancing on Harpers Ferry. But eventually he did get across the
Potomac, while an understrength Johnston had no choice but to fall back
before him. Able skirmishing and Patterson's temerity, however, worked
to slow his advance thereafter, so that by the second week of July
Johnston's Confederates were firmly planted at Winchester, twenty miles
south of the Potomac, with the vital Manassas Gap rail line still in
their control and no sign of Patterson advancing further.
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THE LEWIS HOUSE SERVED AS JOHNSTON'S HEADQUARTERS DURING THE BATTLE.
(LC)
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Not until July 16 did the Yankees show signs of making a tentative
advance again. Patterson knew that McDowell was starting his march that
day, and somehow he reasoned that by making a faint-hearted show of
force in front of Winchester, he could keep Johnston pinned down and
unable to reinforce Beauregard. But the whole thing backfired. Timid to
the point of foolishness, Patterson's small demonstration against
Winchester only left him convinced that he could not move further and
that Johnston had 42,000 in his army instead of the 12,000 or more
actually there. By magnifying enemy numbers almost three times in his
imagination, Patterson defeated himself. As he and his staff officers
slapped each others' backs and congratulated themselves that they had
pinned down Johnston in spite of his superior numbers and that McDowell
would now win a great victory thanks to them, they sat down intending to
do nothing more during the campaign.
But then came an angry order from Scott that they were not to let
Johnston fool them. They must attack him and keep attacking. On the
morning of July 18, having already withdrawn from the Winchester area,
Patterson put his army back on the road. "The enemy has stolen no march
on me," he confidently wired to Washington. But then some of his
volunteer regiments refused to go on, their 90-day enlistments having
expired. Glad to have an excuse not to do anything, Patterson decided
that he could not advance with a reduced and balky army. But he did not
need to advance anyhow, he reasoned. "I have succeeded," he wired to
Scott, "in keeping General Johnston's force at Winchester."
At that very moment, Johnston's Confederates were already on their
way to Manassas. The Army of the Shenandoah had lived under constant
threat of enemy advance for days, but as time wore on Johnston became
increasingly convinced that Patterson did not have the stomach for a
fight. When he found out that Patterson had actually moved his army
seven miles away from Winchester after the halfhearted demonstration of
July 16, Johnston realized that he would be able to get all or part of
his command away if needed. On the seventeenth came a telegram from
Beauregard announcing that Richmond had ordered Johnston to move to
Manassas immediately. "Do so, if possible," said Beauregard, "and we
will crush the enemy." Confirmation arrived early the next morning from
Richmond itself. No one knew whether McDowell might attack the next day.
If he did, Johnston could not possibly be there. If he did not, then
still there might be time.
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JOSEPH E. JOHNSTON (LC)
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CONFEDERATE TROOPS ABOUT TO DEPART FOR MANASSAS. (BL)
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Early on July 18 reveille sounded in Johnston's camps. No one told
the men where they were going, but hastily they packed their equipment,
and then Jackson's Virginia brigade marched off southeastward toward
Piedmont Station, the nearest point on the Manassas Gap line, "We are
all completely at a loss to comprehend the meaning of our retrograde
movement," one of his men complained to his diary. They would know soon
enough. Jackson pushed them fast and then informed them of their
destination. That put heart into the men and they marched with renewed
vigor, knowing that every minute saved could be Confederate lives at
Manassas. Not until 2 A.M., July 19. did they halt for the night at
Paris.
Behind them came the other brigades, one by one, first Bee, then
Bartow, and finally Kirby Smith, temporarily commanding Elzey's brigade
since his own was not completely organized. Johnston himself rode ahead
of the army toward Piedmont Station to arrange the trains to transport
his men. When he arrived he met a messenger with word of the fight
earlier that day at Blackburn's Ford. Now real urgency drove the
Southerners. Sending back word to Beauregard that he was coming and that
parts of his command would arrive on the morrow, Johnston worked
throughout the night. When Jackson's column marched into sight around 6
A.M., July 19, some cars awaited them, and within a few hours
the entire brigade was on its way eastward.
Exhausted after marching and riding sixty miles in the past
twenty-eight hours, the Virginians collapsed on the ground, unaware as
yet tat they had just made history . . .
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It was a hair-raising trip for some, many of the boys being on a
train for the first time in their lives, While the officers grumbled at
the slow pace of the engine, the men marveled at the speed of their
progress. At every town and hamlet along the way, townspeople turned out
to cheer them on while the women waved their handkerchiefs, It took them eight
hours, but finally they saw smoke in the distance that signaled their
approach to Manassas Junction. It rose above Beauregard's campfires.
They had come in time. Exhausted after marching and riding sixty miles
in the past twenty-eight hours, the Virginians collapsed on the ground,
unaware as yet that they had just made history, being the first soldiers
ever to make a major territorial shift by rail from one war zone to
another.
Behind them came the others. There was only one engine on the
Manassas Gap line, so Bartow had to wait for the train to return to
Piedmont Station before he could embark his brigade. They would travel
all night, not reaching Manassas until daylight July 20. At that same
time Bee boarded his brigade, thanks to Johnston finding another train
somewhere, and this engine moved at seeming light speed, getting Bee's
brigade to Manassas shortly after noon that same day. That still left
some elements of Bee's, Bartow's, and all of Elzey's
brigadecommanded by Smithawaiting transportation, with
Smith's own command hurrying on as well. It was 3 A.M., July 21, when
the next train left, carrying most of Elzey's brigade, and behind them
would come one last train bringing some of the remnants. They could not
arrive before dawn, July 21, at the earliest. Meanwhile, Johnston's
cavalry, commanded by Colonel James Ewell Brown "Jeb" Stuart rode hard
for thirty-six hours and reached Manassas late July 20.
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WILLIAM T. SHERMAN (LC)
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Jefferson Davis, Beauregard, and Johnston had achieved a small
miracle. In barely forty-eight hours they put together a concentration
that came close to doubling the strength of the army along Bull Run,
doing it virtually under the guns of the enemy, completely fooling
Patterson in the Shenandoah, and even deceiving McDowell as to the
meaning of the sound of the train whistles coming into and going out of
Manassas Junction. Davis rushed other isolated units to the front from
elsewhere in Virginia, too. For the first time in history, railroads
served decisively in warfare. Now their combined 34,000 troops were
almost the equal of McDowell's 35,000, testimony to the foresight of
Robert E. Lee and General Cocke, who originally conceived the
scheme.
Now it was up to Johnston and Beauregard to capitalize on their good
fortune and planning. Johnston's commission made him senior, and he
immediately assumed overall command. However, Beauregard had been on
this ground for weeks, knew the defenses and the troops there emplaced,
and he had the best knowledge of what McDowell had done to date.
Moreover, Beauregard had a plan. A would-be Napoleon, the Louisianian
always had a grand scheme, and now he assumed that Johnston would go
along with his plan to attack McDowell. Simply put, Beauregard meant to
push most of his brigades across Bull Run early on July 21, with most of
his strengthincluding Johnston's troopson his right flank.
They would push around the Federal left flank and cut off McDowell from
his line of retreat via Fairfax Court House. That done, they could
disperse or destroy the Yankee army while leaving it nowhere to run.
Johnston readily agreed, perhaps not realizing that in so doing he was
yielding much of his ability to influence the ensuing battle to his
subordinate.
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JAMES EWELL BROWN (J.E.B.) STUART (LC)
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THE STONE BRIDGE AS IT APPEARS TODAY. (NPS)
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It was not a good plan. It put two-thirds of their army on the right
side of their eight-mile-long line, leaving the left very thinly
defended, and Sudley Ford entirely uncovered. One and one-half brigades
were left to cover three miles all by themselves, including the best
fords and the stone bridge, along a stretch where Bull Run was shallow
enough to wade across in places not usually fordable.
But Tyler's demonstration at Blackburn's Ford had convinced
Beauregard that McDowell intended his main attack there or at nearby
Mitchell's Ford in the center of the Confederate line, and once
believing that he knew what an opponent thought, Beauregard could not or
would not change his mind. Should McDowell strike the weaker side of his
line before Beauregard got his own plan into motion, all the fruits of
Johnston's arrival might be lost.
Worse, Beauregard bungled the written orders instructing the several
brigades as to their positions and movements. They were far too complex,
and in one case the wording was so ambiguous that, read literally, it
ordered one brigade to attack another Confederate brigade!
Nevertheless, when Beauregard gave Johnston a copy of the order to sign
at 4:30 A.M., July 21, the Virginian did not question it, another case
of abrogating his responsibility to his subordinate. They were committed
now. All they and their soldiers could do was try to get a little more
sleep before the opening of the battle to save Virginia and the
Confederacy.
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