I shall not sail probably till Saturday.
I have determined to take out a complete equipment, even to a servant. I am causing inquiries to be made this morning, and in case I find no one to my mind, I shall send for Daniel Murphy. Daniel would be so devoted to me. If I were sick he would take care of me. Daniel, too, would feel with me perfectly secure from all harm. The quartermaster will furnish me here with a camp equipage. I shall provide myself with a saddle, india-rubber leggings, and everything complete, so that not for a single instant shall I be delayed on reaching my destination. Immediately on my landing I wish to be ready for service. I may take out a horse. I wish some of my good friends would present me one. I should want a horse worth three hundred dollars.
I have sent for Oliver to spend the day with me to-morrow. I thought it best not to send for father. It will be hard for him to part with me, and he had better stay at home.
Since leaving you my mind has dwelt much upon my little family. I know you will look on the bright side. In all candor, I consider my life as safe in Mexico as in Maine. I hope to get a sound constitution, and to come back to you, my dear Margaret, in due season, sound in body and none the worse for wear. You have a treasure in your own mother and brothers and sisters. Mary is with you. I feel grateful to her for giving up so promptly her own wishes to stay with you. I hope you will have a pleasant winter. Keep up your spirits, and have faith in the future and in the God of the future. I go to Mexico without a single foreboding. I have faith, almost implicit faith, that I shall come back. Have faith with me.
So long as I remain in Boston you shall hear from me every day. Love to Mary and the chicks.
Affectionately yours,
Isaac.
Boston, Mass., December 30, 1846.
My dear Margaret,—Oliver has come down to pass the day with me. We are hard at work preparing inventories and getting everything ready. We have a fine vessel, and I look forward to a pleasant passage.
Oliver brought me the sad intelligence of the death of Elizabeth on the 10th of December. Campbell wrote further a most feeling and excellent letter. Elizabeth suffered but little, and everything was done for her that could be suggested by the forethought of the most devoted of husbands.
Her child was very well. Mary, we expect, will return in the spring. I shall try and send you a little note every day. Write me at Brazos Santiago, and write often, commencing now. Write once a week, adding something to your letters each day.