“Yes, I can send it. I often send letters. I send them through the commanding general when a flag of truce passes.”
“Oh, if you can, do have pity on my poor mother! She is such a good mother. She said to me when I was leaving her: ‘Now, my child, do the best you can. Whatever may happen, be good and true. Don’t swear or drink or forget your mother. Remember your mother is praying for you, and God may have compassion on us and bring you back to me again.’ Oh, if you could only let her know that I’m alive, and that I’ve been good and true, I should be so glad,” and at this last outburst the tears ran down over his face.
I took the directions, and consulted the physician as to his condition; and that night, before I slept in my new quarters, in a house that had been assigned me in Vicksburg, I wrote to the mother about as follows:—
“Dear Madam,—I found your son in Vicksburg [giving his name, company, and regiment]. He was severely wounded in the battle outside of Vicksburg, and was carried into the city.
His condition is now hopeful. The surgeons tell me he will recover. He desires me to tell you that he has been good and true, and has never violated your injunctions.
Though we may differ on the great questions that have led to this terrible war, I feel it to be my duty as a mother and a Christian to let you know about your son, and that he still lives.
He will be moved to a Northern hospital; but you can reach him with home news by writing to my office, Sanitary Commission, St. Louis, Mo. I will arrange with him to notify me each time he changes hospitals. You must send your letter unsealed. Write briefly. Say nothing about the war or condition of affairs in the South or North, and I think you will reach me.”
The next day I drove over to General Grant’s headquarters with that and some other letters, and gave them to him as I had often done before, to send through the lines. In a very short time I had an answer from the mother. This was her reply:—
“Dear Lady,—My eyes are full of tears of joy as I write. Your letter made a rift in the black clouds of sorrow that have hung over us for weeks. It was like a beam of heavenly glory from the Throne. At first it seemed too good to believe; but the name and company and regiment are all right, and it must be so. Your letter found us all dressed in black. I thought I had reliable news that my boy was killed outside of Vicksburg, and I did not hope even to find his grave.
Now we are all dressed in white.”