William Alexander Linn, Horace Greeley Founder and Editor of The New York Tribune

Dear Sir: This is my seventh sleepless night — yours, too, doubtless — yet I think I shall not die, because I have no right to die. I must struggle to live, however bitterly. But to business. You are not considered a great man, and I am a hopelessly broken one. You are now undergoing a terrible ordeal, and God has thrown the gravest responsibilities upon you. Do not fear to meet them. Can the rebels be beaten after all that has occurred, and in view of the actual state of feeling caused by our late awful disaster If they can — and it is your business to ascertain and decide — write me that such is your judgment, so that I may know and do my duty. And if they can not be beaten — if our recent disaster is fatal — do not fear to sacrifice yourself to your country. If the rebels are not to be beaten — if that is your judgment in view of all the light you can get — then every drop of blood henceforth shed in this quarrel will be wantonly, wickedly shed, and the guilt will rest heavily on the soul of every promoter of the crime. I pray