Sidney July 12th 1865

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My Dear wandering Son

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You don’t know how glad I was to get a few lines written by your hand though not to me. Mary received a letter from you written in March. She sent it here and it was almost like hearing from one raised from the dead. Almost two years had rolled away and not one of the family had heard a since word from you. The last letter we got was mailed from Kamloops. You then thought if we directed letters to that place you would get them. Tempe and I wrote immediately. I sent your letter to Barlow and wrote to each of the girls telling them where you was and I presume they all wrote soon. None of us have received any answer yet. The next spring I wrote again. Since then I have been anxiously waiting in hopes the next mail would bring the much desired letter. I haint wrote to you in more than a year because I didn’t know where to direct a letter. You move so often and write so seldom I can’t keep track of you. I presume we don’t get half the letters you send. You say our letters don’t often reach you short of 12 or 18 months. Probably most of them never reach you. Whitfield do tell me why you keep rambling about the uninhabited part of the world year after year for. Are you in any business or do you travel first to see the mountains and rivers and wilderness of the northern regions. I wish you would make up your mind to return to a more civilized country where you could enjoy Christian society but I confess I have never felt as well reconciled to your being in that far distant part of the world as I have since this wicked slave holders war commenced, though I have always thought it was a righteous war on the part of the government, if there ever was a righteous war, and yet I have not felt patriotism enough to make me willing to have any of my boys go into the army. But now we hope most of the fighting is done. The South is in an unsettled condition yet and the government think it necessary to keep an army ready for any outbreak but most of the soldiers are or soon will be sent home but O how many of the poor fellows must be left on the battlefield and many that return are broken down, many crippled, widows and orphans scattered all over the country. A sad picture to dwell upon. Frank Birdsall and Austin Murwin were little boys when you left home. Austin fell mortally wounded on the last day of the great slaughter before Richmond. He lived eight days after being wounded. Frank was taken prisoner and shot trying to get away. I might mention more that have fallen but I presume you didn’t know them. Your Uncle George Barlow had one son die in the army last fall. Whit don’t you think you could enjoy life quite as well to return East and live among old friends as you do wandering from place to place. Do tell me what kind of society you mingle with. Do you find any Christians, do you know when Sunday comes, if you do how do you spend the day. Well, I hope and pray you will guard your morals and take care of your soul so if I never meet you in this world again I may meet you in Heaven to part no more forever. O, if I had the assurance that we should meet in the better world an unbroken family I should be very happy, although my children are scattered in this world. Tempe wrote you some weeks ago and I presume she told you more about matters and things than I could, but you may not get her letter so I will tell you some things that probably she told you all about. We live on the old place yet. Lucius has got a wife to help fill the old hive, Barlow lives in Scranton, Adeline lives in Polo, Elvira is with her or Mary. Fordyce is in the army. My health is as good as we could expect at my time of life. Whit do write oftener. The more letters you send the more likely we shall be to get some of them.

from your affectionate old Mother

 

Whitfield Chase