Dear nieces, nephews, and y’all–
Once upon a time, in a land far far away, Cece, Ryan, Annie, Holly, Sam, Matt, Pat, Mr. Frydenlund, and myself left our beloved hometown of Charleston, Virginia, to fight in the second War of Independence.
It was Octover 18th, 1863. As proud Confederate Marines, we woke early on the 19th and were issued muskets, canteens, haversacks, and all the sundry equipment needed for war. We drilled for hours, the taste of gunpowder and the sound of gunshots ringing in our ears. We said our final farewells then, separating into infantry, artillery, and medics.
Upon winning our first battle, we spent the night dancing with beautiful ladies. Spinning around to the Virginia Reel and waltzing across the dance floor, it was almost possible to forget the horrors of war. This was all brought to a halt the next day as another battle began. Fighting to a stalemate, the generals agreed to postpone the battle until that night.
Fighting at night ’twas a new bloody horror. Soldiers fell on both sides of me, screaming for their mothers. Wounded men were dragged to the hospitals, incompetent doctors hacking limbs off with little regard to cleanliness. As I lay bleeding, the newly-made widows wandered the field, ghostly wails reverberating as they found the bodies of their loved ones.
As I write this letter, I wait for my future to be decided. Despite fighting valiantly, our final battle was a sad sight. The Yankees have captured my company, and we will doubtless be shot for treason tomorrow morning, so I end my letter here.
Love,
Uncle
By Christy