Oh, Beauregard!

Love in this Club

George Ashley Wilkes—what a mighty, mighty good man. These rough and dark days cause me to dream about long, sunny, boozy days at Twelve Oaks (or somewhere like it).

Civil War Letter for Sunday

On the eve of his death at the battle of Bull Run, July 4th, 1861, Union Major Sullivan Beaulieu wrote—

My dearest,

Indications are strong that we shall move in a very few days. Lest I shall not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that will fall under your eye when I shall be no more. I have no misgivings about the cause in which I am engaged and my courage does not falter.

My love for you is deathless. It seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but omnipotence could break. And yet my love of country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me unresistably on. The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me and I feel so gratified to you and to God that I have enjoyed them for so long. I know I have but few claims upon Divine Providence but something whispers to me. Perhaps it is the wafted prayer of our young sons that I shall return unharmed. If I do not my dearest, don’t ever forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me, it will whisper your name. Forgive me my many faults and pains that I have caused you; how gladly I would wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness. But oh, my dear, if the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those that they loved, I shall always be near you, in the gladdest days and the darkest nights always, always. And if there be a soft breeze on your cheek, it will be my breath. And when the cool air fans your temple it shall be my spirit passing by. Sarah, do not mourn me dead. Think I am gone and will wait for thee. For we shall meet again.

Verses

These past two weeks I've hoped to find the time to stay in bed for a few and watch Ken Burns' Civil War (there is, after all, an untouched bottle of Maker's in the cupboard). Sadly, I've had to content myself with stolen half-hours in the midst of some holiday times socializing and my attempts to wrench out this Britney Spears book proposal. I have not visited the War Between the States in some time, having been pretty morbidly preoccupied with it as a girl. But I find now, as ever, the most remarkable bit of perusing its history is listening to Shelby Foote. Our dearly departed fellow Midtown Memphian has knowledge, ease and presence, the likes of which will ne'er be seen again.

Love in This Club

General Robert E. Lee, born (in 1807) to be realized in triumphal frieze, was given the nickname "Marble Man" by his peers at Westpoint. His papa was the governor of Virginia, a certain Henry "Light Horse Harry" Lee, descendant of Sir Thomas More and the Earls of Crawford, and confidant of George Washington, who was, incidentally, great grandfather to Robert's wife, Mary Anna Randolph Custis Lee.