August, 1781.
In my last letter I informed you that there was a greater prospect of
activity now, than there had been heretofore. I did this to prepare
your mind for an event which, I am sure, will give you pain. I begged
your father, at the same time, to intimate to you, by degrees, the
probability of its taking place. I used this method to prevent a
surprise, which might be too severe to you. A part of the army, my dear
girl, is going to Virginia, and I must, of necessity, be separated at a
much greater distance from my beloved wife. I cannot announce the fatal
necessity, without feeling every thing that a fond husband can feel. I
am unhappy; I am unhappy beyond expression. I am unhappy, because I am
to be so remote from you; because I am to hear from you less frequently
than I am accustomed to do. I am miserable, because I know you will
be so; I am wretched at the idea of flying so far from you, without
a single hour’s interview, to tell you all my pains and all my love.
But I cannot ask permission to visit you. It might be thought improper
to leave my corps at such a time, and upon such an occasion. I must
go without seeing you--I must go without embracing you;--alas! I must
go. But let no idea, other than of the distance we shall be asunder,
disquiet you. Though I said the prospects of activity will be greater,
I said it to give your expectations a different turn, and prepare you
for something disagreeable. It is ten to one that our views will be
disappointed, by Cornwallis retiring to South Carolina by land. At all
events, our operations will be over by the latter end of October, and I
will fly to my home. Don’t mention I am going to Virginia.