(Background Information: The narrator of this letter is soldier William Matthews. William has a younger sister named Sally, age 16, who is waiting for his return home after the Civil War.)
Dear Sally,
I hope you find yourself in good health, for as the men who surround me are not. Day after day, I see comrades die before me, mostly from disease and infections. I am currently writing to you from my nightmarish tent which I call home. Oh, the things one sees in battle can change a man forevermore. I am to sleep among my dying companions and hear them moan and cry from their pain. Yesterday morning, I woke up to the yells of a man beside me who was getting his infected leg amputated. One would think the quick operation was successful, but sadly enough he passed away minutes after he was put to rest with Chloroform. During his last breaths, I could faintly hear his whispered prayers beckoning upon heaven or hell to let him in. Oh, sister, one has not seen hell until they have gone to war. I quickly got ready for role call and rushed out of my tent. The hundreds of men who remained stood tall, or tried to, waiting to be assigned their tasks of the day. I was assigned, along with other men, to assist and prepare meals for the day. It had been days since anyone, including the generals, had consumed. I gathered the few rations that were available and commenced my simple duty. In what seemed to be a hell hole, now become a sweet home for the longing, homesick, and broken hearts of the soldiers. The cheerful crackling of the fire brought joy to the faces of many. I prepared the broth you used to make for father when he got ill. Although my soup was not as exquisite as yours, it filled the empty stomachs and weary souls of the regiment.
P.S. I can't wait to return home.
Sincerely,
William
No comments:
Post a Comment