Dear Sister Fleet,
I will not deny myself the mournful privilege of assuring you of my very
sincere and deep sympathy in your recent and severe affliction. I could but
hope that the rumor of your son's death was false, but yesterday I saw Lieut.
Ryland who has not only confirmed the report, but given me the sad particulars
of the event. Well, it did not occur by chance. It was directed, as to time and
circumstances, by the hand of one who loves you, and who designs to do you
good and not evil, and who however dark and inscrutable his ways may be, can
make no mistake. And yet, while your judgment may be convinced of the equity,
wisdom and kindness of the dispensation, the heart feels it to be a sore trial.
And rightly, too, "For no chastisement for the present seemeth
to be joyous but grievous." It would be unnatural if you did not feel, and
feel deeply the death of a son, at an age so promising, and under circumstances
so distressing. Under such a bereavement any seeming
extravagance of grief should be viewed with toleration and sympathy. But,
"is there no balm in
This war has demanded great and terrible sacrifices at our hands. You have been
called to lay your gift upon the altar- probably not the offering you had
selected, but that which your heavenly Father chose- a precious gift. This may
not be the last sacrifice demanded of you in our fearful national struggle. We
know not what awaits us. So far as we can discern, we must have a sanguinary (?) conflict, such as the world has rarely
seen, or submit to a degradation and ruin, such as no nation in modern times
has been called to endure. In a cause so just, and contending against enemies
unnatural, barbarous and fiendish, we may well suffer with patience, fortitude
and submission. We are shut up to the necessity of enduring whatever
bereavements and suffering the maintenance of our cause may require. But while
these considerations may serve us to uncomplaining endurance, they cannot
sweeten the bitter cup pressed to our lips. I preached the funeral of a noble
son, of my dearest friend, Rev. D. Witt. He remarked, with a resigned but
sorrowful spirit, "The war will end - we shall have peace - prosperity
will once more return to the land - but my son is dead."
I am sorry that my personal knowledge of your son,
does not enable me to make any remarks concerning him for your consolation. I
do not even know whether he was a professor of religion. If he was, that is a
comfort to you; if he was not, let it be your consolation that grace is often
real where it is not apparent. Many children religiously educated possess the genes of piety long before they are
developed. Few persons, indeed, know the time of their conversion. Many date
their conversion from some period of deep and well remembered emotion, whose
renovation commenced at an earlier time. We must commit our loved ones when
they depart to the Judge of all the earth who will do right.
Our friend, sis. Spotts, is lingering on the shore of mortality, but ready and
waiting for the divine command to launch and bear away to a brighter life. A
lovelier specimen of a matured Christian has never been seen. She is cheerful,
devout, using the world as a means of doing good, but having her treasures
quite beyond the perils of war. Her life, I judge, cannot be much longer
extended.
With my apology for trespassing so long on your sorrow, and with assurance
of my sincere condolence with yourself, & Dr. Fleet, I subscribe myself
your friend in hope of a blessed immortality
J. B.
Jeter