AMBROSE JEFFERY’S LOVE LETTERS

Hi folks, just a note before you read the following letter, written after Ambrose was nursed back to health from the Civil War, by his cousin Mary Mason, of Roane County, TN.   If you read the story of Jane Mason yesterday, and saw the url for Mason Place on the web, this end note is written by Edmund P. McQueen, the last family member to live in the home.  Following his death, the home was purchased and turned into a bed and breakfast in.
I would like to challange some of my Jeffery cousins, descendants of Ambrose Jeffery, to share the end story of what happened to Ambrose in his life, after this letter was written, how he met his wife, etc.  I know that many would find it interesting.
Thanks,
Jean

Dearest Friend
It is with the greatest pleasure that I seat myself to the pleasant task of writing you a letter, after my arrival at my Arkansas Home.  I wrote you twice while on my route, once from Nashville, and once from Memphis, but had short time to write in, and could only write hurried notes, which may be unintelligible to you for aught I know.  I have a little more time now, and may inflect a long letter upon you.
I had a very pleasant trip, except the first and last part of it.  I had to ride on a freight car from Loudon to Chattanooga, the passenger being crowded.  I mentally abused the military at a great rate for not having more passengers hitched on to this train.  After that I had a very pleasant trip and my health has improved very much and I am getting in pretty good order.  The political atmosphere seemed to change all the time after I left Chattanooga until I struck Arkansas.  I could hear the Rebs putting forth their opinions upon politics and the state of the country upon all occasions pretty freely, but they nearly always expressed themselves as willing to abide by the laws and make good citizens, hoping that the good old times might return to us after a time.  I had the good fortune to get to travel on Steam Boats all the way from Nashville to Jacksonport, which is within 70 miles of this.  That distance I had to walk.   Of course everybody was surprised to see me, and equally as glad, especially my sisters,who done a sight of taking on.  Everybody at home looks rosy and healthy,much better than I expected to find them.  It seems that not having much to eat is a good thing after all.
When I got to Mount Olive, I stopped to see an aunt, and had been there but five minutes until there were 40 or 50 uncles, aunts, and cousins collected in to see the returned Reb who had been so long absent.  Asa was gone off with nine or ten yards of calico to a big meeting 18 miles off, when I got home, and did not get back for two days.  You may know I was very impatient to see him and expressed myself as being very desirous that the calico would parole him and let him come home for a day or two, and then report at Headquarters again.  This country was badly hawked and eat up by the armies and theives about the time of the surrender, and numbers of people suffered severely.  The have bountiful crops this year and the people will get along pretty comfortably, though they will enjoy none of the luxuries of life for some time to come, there being no money in the country.
I have not been about much yet, I went up to see your uncle Jack and Aunt Lilly yesterday and stay all night.  The are both in good health, and very glad to hear from you all.  Uncle Jack says he has been wanting to go to your house for a year, but when Confederate money was good he was afraid t travel and now he has no Greenback.  I am very sorry that I cannot raise any for him at present.
When I gave your Papa’s picture to your Aunt and asked her if she knew it she went off in a room by herself and was gone sometime.  When she came back she says “This is my brother, ain’t it, I know it is, for he looks just like my Father.”
Mary, I am going to give expression to some sentiments now, which may possibly give you pain or offend you, may even cause me the loss of your friendship which I prize more  highly than the miser does his heaps of gold.  But that they will not do either is my greatest Earthly desire, for I would not cause you one pang, to save my right arm.  Mary, sweet Mary, I love you, and have loved you with my whole heart and soul for a long time.  It is not a brother love, but a tender, and deeper and holier passion, which has been consuming my Soul with its intensity for months.

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I have been trying to resist it, even to crush it out, and instate in its place a feeling of friendship and brotherly affection, knowing that I was poor and not in a condition to aspire to any woman’s love and hand.  But all attempts of that kind proved the most helpless failures, and the old love would rise up with ten times its former ardor and strength.  I then determined that I would tear myself away from you, and commence striving for a competence and if you remained single until that time sue for your hand and heart.   I did not want to bind you to me by a promise, for I knew that a girl of your beauty and intellegence and lovliness of  despostion  would not long remain without suitors who would be able to marry, and with whom you could be happily mated.  After all your unbounded kindness to me, I felt a delicacy in asking you to wait for me perhaps years.  I though perhaps by leaving I could in some measure calm and quiet my passion for you, but all is a failure, and I have thought that after all I ought to explain my feelings to you, and if they were reciprocated I would be the happiest man in the world, and if not, I would know my doom.
I earnestly hope you will not be offended with me for thus opening my heart to you.  I am actuated by sincere and pure motives.  Your happiness is my great desire.  On my first acquaintance with you I admired you, but on being more intimately acquainted that admiration changed to love as pure, as holy, and as deep as man ever had for woman.  You come nearer filling my ideal of a true woman than any I ever saw.  The more I saw of you the more I loved you, until you have become my idol, my angel, my little Divinity on Earth, at whose shrine I worship with all the devotion of an Eastern Idolator.  I would be the happiest man in existence, it seems to me, if I knew the sweet truth, that your pure bosom throbbed with love for me, I would be inspired with new corage and higher and nobler exertion for your sake, in order that I might be an honor to your hand and the pride of your heart.  With you for a companion I feel that my course through life would be strewed with the sweetest flowers, and my life be made bright and beautiful, otherwise I fear it would be cheerless and unsatisfactory, for you are the only girl I ever truly loved; my heart is loyal to you and you alone.  I feel that I can never love another woman as I love you.
I am poor, but I have friends here who I think will assist me to start in the World, and I have a head and hands, together with a resolution and determination to avail myself of that assistance by hard work and close attention to business, being at the same time inspired with an ambition to make myself a high position in society.
I have now explained and laid bare my feelings towards you.  I have said that I loved you with my whole soul.  That is true.  I feel everything that the word love means.  My poor language is soon bankrupted in the attempt to give expression to the extent of that love.  Can you love me in return?  and will you promise to be my own sweet wife someday?  O what unutterable happiness to me it will be if I hear an affirmative answer.  It would make me strong to begin life’s struggles in order that I might have a comfortable home in which to install you as its sweek mistress, and queen of my heart.
Take this matter into consideration and let me hear from you soon.  Answer me frankly and freely, and if you can reciprocate my attachment I will be the happiest of men.  If you cannot, at least remain the dear friend you always have been, for I assure you that I can never be less than a friend to you.  I can never forget you, would not if I could, for I would be ungrateful to do so.
Mary, I found that watch I give you all right with the exception of the hour hand and crystal which have got broken by being hid out so much since the War.

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August 28.
Since writing the above I came out here on yesterday to Wild Haus, my old home when the War broke out, and am now writing in the house where I once saw so much pleasure.  Yesterday 4 years ago I left this place for the Southern Army, and four years to the day I got back under quite different circumstances to what I expected when I started out.
The Messrs. Watkins and family were greatly rejoiced to see me, and said it looked like old times to see me here.
I send this by Dr. O. T. Hunt, who is going to Middle Tennessee after his sister, who has been there ever since the commencement of the War.  He will remain at Franklin, Tennessee two weeks, and if you will write to me and enclose the letter in a separate envelope directed to him at Franklin he will bring it to me.  Be sure and write by him if you please, for I am very anxious to hear from you all.
How are you getting on with your school?  Is the Sunday School going on yet? Do you ride out any now?  O how I wish I could take one ride with you now.
Take good care of that willow I planted and named Mary.
I was very proud that it lived.  I took it as a good omen.  I expect you have not wearied this long letter and I will desist.  I only hope you will write me one in answer.
Your devoted friend
s/Ambrose Jeffery

“Ambrose (a Mason cousin) was here with the army and was wounded at Cumberland Gap--- made his way back here to be nursed to health--- evidently by Mary! Mary Mason was my grandmother’s sister.  She married Alexander Presnell, no issue, interred at Mason Place Ambrose’s daughter visited in 1954, from Little Rock. She was a true daughter of the Confederacy!
I have the original letter. ( but not her answer)! “
(End note...above...written by Edmund P. McQueen:)
 
 

Wild Hauz, Arkansas
Dec 24, 1859
Dear bro,  Christmas gift old hoss
I will write you and xxx to xxx by Jo xxx who will go out to your county tomorrow.  I expected to have been xxx I didn’t think it would hardly pay for so much travel.  I intended to come out and go to the Richwood with xxx, but this last snow done the work for me.  I knew that it would be a heap of trouble to get across the river, as it would have been to go down to Sylamore on this side of the river, under the xxx and I knew that would be dangerous traveling these icy times.
I want to come very bad, for a few days, and I intend to come out in a short time. I don’t hear of any fun here at all, and I expect  to stay at home all the time.
I am in hopes there will be something going on out your way when I arrive but I guess there will not be anything of account.  Tell Robert and Atlantic that I will answer their letter next week if I don’t come out.  Then I sent for a couple of magazines for Jane and Atlantic nearly a month ago, and it will soon be time for them to begin to come in.  I will try to go in about the last of next week, anyway you may look pretty strong for me Saturday evening or Sunday morning.
No more of interest.
Yours Truly,
Ambrose Jeffery
Jehoida Jeffery
Mt. Olive, Arkansas
 
 

Loudon, Tennessee  April 7, 1865
Mr. Miles Jeffery,

Dear Father,

After a long silence, I have concluded to write you, though I have very little hope of this reaching you.  But wanting to hear from you all so  much, I thought I would make the effort.  You can have no idea of the mental anxiety, the anguish of soul I have suffered on your account, since I was so suddenly and unexpectedly torn from you, without the privilege of even bidding you all farewell. It has not lessened since my release from prison, for I am now fully convinced that the Confederacy is doomed, and I have seen enough of the doings of the party now coming into power to know that very few who have taken an active part in the Rebellion, will escape the vengeance of unscrupulous men, and the confiscation of what property they may have left from the ravages of the war.  The last news I ever heard from you was last June, at Helena, as we passed up the river on our way to Rock Island Prison, where I saw Wm. Aiken, he standing on the shore and I on top of the boat.  He told me that he had heard from you about three weeks before that time and that you were all well.  I heard from you frequently while at Little Rock from kinsmen brought in from our country, and I was much gratified to hear that you were all still in good health, or even living.  O, how much peace it would give my soul, to hear now that you were all still in good health, or even living, and the possession of enough substance to live in comparative comfort.  My confinement in prison went very hard with me.  My health got very bad while at Little Rock, and when we started north we were put on the top of the boat in the hot sun, and kept there without any protection from its burning rays until we got to St. Louis, and being in a weak state of health and debilitated condition, I came very near dying.  I cannot look back upon that voyage up the Mississippi without a feeling of horror.
When I arrived at Rock Island I was scarcely able to walk, and my friends told me afterwards that they never expected me to live.  I did not care so much for dying as I dreaded the idea of dying so far from home and among strangers and having my body thrown into a ditch with thousands of other unfortunates, without any mark over the place where I lay.  I knew this would be torture to your hearts, and taking into consideration the fact that I could do no good to myself, friends or country by languishing and very probably dying in prison, I thought it would be better for me to take the amnesty oath and get out of prison, save my life, and thus, in all probability, be of some use to friends in the future.  I had been corresponding while at Little Rock with our relations here, the Mason family, and have received kind and cheering words of sympathy from them, and when I got to Rock Island, I wrote to them to assist me in getting out and to assist me pecuniarily, which they did, and I firmly believe that without their kind aid and cheering words of encouragement and hope, I would now be mouldering in that ditch, amid the waters of the upper Mississippi.  I was released the last day of October last, and they sent me the means to carry me to their house, where I have been for two months, receiving as kind treatment from them as I ever received at home.  O, how dearly I love them.  I feel I owe them a debt of gratitude, which I never can sufficiently repay.  I would have gone home when I got out of prison, but I thought that having taken the oath, bad men would take advantage of that fact and persecute me and I would have to lay out from home and thus be of no benefit to you.  I thought it would be best for me to stay within the Federal lines until the war was over, where I probably engage.....
The remainder of this letter is lost.

(this shared by Janet K. Jeffery)
 

Cumberland Gap, Tennessee
October 28, 1862

My dear Parents,
I have concluded to write you a line this morning, although I have very little hopes of it reaching you; I have written so many and have heard of their destruction before they reached you.  I send this by Mr. Tucker, and hope you will get it.
We have seen a considerable portion of the Southern Confederacy since we left home, and have endured a great amount of hardship and suffering.  I can’t do more than mark out the route (or a portion of it) that we have traveled since we left Tupelo, Miss.
We went from there by railway to Mobile, thence to Montgomery, thence to West Point, Atlanta and Dalton, Ga., to Chattanooga, Tennessee, from there we went to Lowden, within 30 miles of Knoxville.  From Lowden we have taken it a foot all the time.
We shipped into the rear of the Gap, and captured Gen. Morgan’s supply trains, and hemmed him up in the Gap.  We then marched north to Richmond.  There we caught the Yankees with a larger force than ours, fought them all day, and killed and wounded and captured all but a few.  From there we went to Lexington, Georgetown, Cynthianna, and Williamstown, and to within three miles of Covington, opposite Cincinatti.  The Yankees had about four or five times our force, and were well fortified, yet we had them scared so badly that they were afraid to come out and fight us on fair ground.  We stayed there two or three days, when we fell back slowly to Georgetown.  From that time on we were kept on forced marches from one place to another, expecting a fight nearly every day, until finally, the boasting Bragg ordered a general skedaddle back to Tennessee.  This raid into Kentucky has been a great benefit to us, although we had to retreat.  We captured and destroyed a great amount of Federal provisions.  We supplied ourselves with Federal wagons and mules, and we captured large amount of clothing and shoes and brought away with us a large quantity of Ky. Jeans and linsey.  We completely destroyed one army, captured a surplus of arms and ammunition, and added thousands of Ky recruits to our army.  We are now at the celebrated Cumberland Gap, one of the strongest places in the world.  There never will be a battle fought here, for no General would be fool enough to attack it.  Gen. Morgan slipped out of here and reached the Ohio in spite of all our Generals could do.  The fact is, we had too many Yankee troops to contend with, or he would have gone up sure.
A snow fell here yesterday 8 inches deep, yet the timber is nearly as green as ever.  That is a sight I never saw before.
There is a rumor in camp that we are going down to Lowden, on the Holston River to go into winter quarter.  I hope we will for I don’t want to stay here.  Lowden is 30 miles below Knoxville and on the railroad, and is located in a pretty country.  And another good thing, we have some kinfolks there, whom we found out while we were there last August.  The old man’s name is Mason.  He is nephew to our old Grandmother Jeffery.  They treated us very kindly while we were there.  There is one sad drawback to him though.  He is a Union man.  He’s taken no part though and says very little.  He had some of our sick soldiers at his house while we were there, taking care of them.  I inquired of some of his neighbors about him, and they said he had always been a kind, clever man, but went off in the Union thing.
We had never heard anything from you since we left home, until Asa saw Henry Harris over in Bragg’s Army while we were up in Kentucky.  I was overjoyed to hear that the Federals had not interrupted you that you were all alive and well, and had a fine crop.  We learned by him that Jehoida and Robert were both in McBride’s Army but that Robert had been discharged on account of sickness.  He said also that McBride camped there by our house on Livingston (creek).  I am afraid they didn’t do your orchard and garden and young shotes much good.  I know what an army is, unless strict discipline is enforced.
I intend this winter, if they will give any furloughs at all, to get one and go to see you all.  If they give anybody a furlough, they will have to give me one, if they do justice, for mine has been due me since last winter, together with the bounty and transportation.  We have never been paid off since we crossed the river, except $48.00 at Memphis, which was soon spent for something to eat and wear.  I am satisfied that it is the fault of our Division Quartermaster, and I hate him bad enough to wish a hundred times that the Yankees would get him and hang him.  I have been homesick very often when I would think of you all, but try to overcome it.  I think I am resigned to the will of God, and if it is His will that I never shall see your faces again, I can endure it like a man.  Still, it would be a matter of great joy to me to get back home in peace once more.  You must write to us if you ever have the least chance.  I have written to you often, and so has Asa, but we have never got a word from you, and none of our letters may have reached you.  I hope we will have peace next year.  We hear good news from the northwest already.  Ohio and Indianna have elected a majority of democratic members to Congress so had Pennsylvania.  I had rather hear this than to hear of a great battle gained by us.  I must close.  My love I send to all of you, one by one.
Your affectionate son,
Ambrose Jeffery
(Shared by Janet K. Jeffery)
 

Mountain View, Arkansas
March 20, 1898
W.B. and Fannie
My dear Children,

For I feel now that Bill, since his letter to me of 13th inst. is nearly so dear to me as my own flesh and blood.  I had no idea that words of sympathy could comfort me so much as yours of 13th inst. did.  I know they came from the heart and that you felt them.  You must let me call you Bill, too.  You know I always called you Bill in our old association when we talked so much about God and His love and mercy, and we would be in deep consultation over ways and means to advance his kingdom in this world.  Yet I feel that words of sympathy could not bear me up under my great loss if I did not have the precious promises of our Heavenly Father to sustain me.  His word teaches us that our precious loved one is no longer suffering the pangs of sickness and the stings of poverty, but she is asleep in Jesus and if we are faithful to Him we will go to her and when He comes to take His kingdom, she and us and all who love His Appearing will come with His and be like Him.  Blessed hope!
She and I walked lovingly side by side for more than thirty years.  We endured many trials, chiefly from poverty.  She never murmured but tried to hold my hands up, and when the world frowned on me she was up in arms for me always.  I was her hero.  I could not bear to be away from her patiently, even for a day.  When she would go on a visit to the children I was lonely and always rejoiced when she returned.  Even when she went to see a neighbor for a day, when the time came for her return, I would catch myself looking in the direction she would come.  But now, it will be all the time.  I will never see her in this life.  Oh, how it stuns me at times.  She was in a comatose condition several hours before her death.  About ten o’clock the night she died, she regained her mental powers.  She opened her eyes and commenced trying to talk, but her tongue refused to perform its office.  We tried every way we could think of to understand her but could not.  Oh, how I wish she could have spoken.  Her words would have been so precious to us all.  I do not believe I will survive her long.  I think my old disease will get the better of me after awhile.  I hope, though it will be Gods will for me to live till all my children are settled in life.  Oh, how sorry I am that I made such a failure in worldly affairs that I could do no more for them than I have.  I am greatly consoled though with the thought that they are all highminded and honorable and will be respected by all good people.  Fannie, you express the wish that we were all in Texas.  The children may go there to live sometime, and if ever I am able I will come to see you all, but my heart seems to be in the grave of my precious one and I think I will stay close by to watch it and when I go I want to be laid by her side.  Well, about Willie, he was ready to start for your house when your Ma was taken sick.  Of course, he could not leave and her sick.  While she was sick he spent some of the money you sent him for her and some in other ways.  When she died I had to get in debt for burial clothes and coffin.  I have to pay out of my wages which are very small.  This I will pay if I never pay anything else.  If it were not for this I could have replaced the money for him.  He tried to borrow it but could not, and gave up the trip and has hired to Sam Evans for ten dollars a month.  He left the bal. of the money with me eight dollars to send to you and will send you the bal.  as he earns it.  I am puzzled where to send it.  Is Charleston a money order office?  Write me immediately and I will send the eight dollars, and as soon as he earns it, I will send the balance.  I am sorry for this for I know it will be a great disappointment to you, especially Fannie.  I hope to hear from you soon.
Yours affectionately,

Ambrose Jeffery
Written to William Butler Johnson and Sarah Frances Jeffery Johnson.
(shared by Janet K. Jeffery)