A letter from home—the
first since April 25th, and written by my beloved wife. On receiving it I
sought my tent with eager haste and perused its welcome pages over and over
again. Well may my darling say, "God has been better to me than my
fears," for we have been spared to each other, and our children to us
both.
I do not believe my
darling's dream was all a dream. On that same day, the 9th of June, I was on my
way from Louisville to Cairo. We went directly north to Seymour, Indiana.
Almost home, it seemed to me, where we changed cars for the southwest. I was
cast down, discouraged, more so than at any other period of my life. My
thoughts and affections were drawn out to my sorrowing wife with an intensity
that was agonizing. I had given up hope of her ever becoming reconciled to our
fate, and believed she would mourn her life away for him who would gladly have
given his own to save his wife. I felt I could do no more. Under the
circumstances was I not permitted to visit her, that my spiritual presence
might cheer, comfort and encourage her by the assurance that she was not
forsaken; that, though far away, her husband was still present, even to her
outward senses.
I believe my darling
has often visited me, and I love to cherish the fond thought. Every nerve and
fiber of my soul has thrilled with joy unspeakable at the familiar touch of her
dear hand upon my brow.
SOURCE: David Lane,
A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 61-2
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