Letter to Molly

My Dearest Molly,



I take the pencil to this parchment, and let you know that I am well. I hope that one day when I return, you too will be the same. The Battle of Atlanta was proceeded with. I reckon old Billy Yank got the best of us yesterday. We suffered 8,500 casualties. Hard blow it was for us. This morning, we got word that Washington had received a telegram shortly after the battle ended, from General Sherman. The telegram said, “ Atlanta is ours, and fairly won.” We also caught wind of a plan that ole’ General Sherman had constructed entitled, “March to the Sea.” His plans are to cut off all supply lines throughout the south to wipe the Confederate Army out once and for all. As if we haven’t been hard enough already, they plan to steal our land, our money, and our pride too! I do not know what is to befall us.


The days here are long and hard. We wake around 5:00 am every dawn. I go out to the center of the camp site, and grab a small pitcher of water, so I may wash my face and rinse my mouth out. Then, I waltz on down to the watering hole, and bathe myself. We don’t wash ourselves but about every one to two days. There ain’t enough time in the days. For breakfast, we eat cornbread. This ain’t nothing on yours though. This here bread is moldy, and staler than all get out! We drink water, straight from an area well. The water isn’t crystal clear, and you might catch your occasional bug, but you sure do need something to wash the cornbread down with! And then, the day begins. We trudge through mud, and the hot sun beats down fiercely on our faces for hours, and maybe even days at the time. At night, yes, there is more cornbread and water, and then we proceed to our very unsettling 8- man tents. This routine rolls along steadily everyday.


We get paid $11.00 a month. That is, if you actually partake in any actual war action. You can kiss that money goodbye if you plan on playing any poker. Let the banker catch you with some gambling debts! They crawl your rear for that. Things around here cost about the same as they do at home right about now. Envelopes is around $1.00. Paper is around $2.00. With the small money we don’t send home, we do use it for a good cause, clothes. Around here, between all of the running and fighting, shoes get worn easily, as do shirts. Our grey wardrobe, completed with a hat, a pair of pants, and a jacket, is pretty much all you’ve got. If you don’t save so you can replace em’ when they wear out, then you’re in bad shape! So, as you can tell my dear, the only things that comes free around here these days, is air! Might I add, it is sweet too. The scenery is beautiful. Green tress, blue skies, and having it all topped off with stars illuminating the dark night sky. I never thought Georgia could be so beautiful without all of the constant bloodshed.


Oh, how I long to come home to you my dear. One day, this war shall end, and that will be when I will once again hold you in my arms so tenderly as I wish to while writing this. I also know it is my duty as an American, and as a soldier to defend my honor, and the honor of the Southern people. I wish for you to send me something from home to keep me near to you. As also in that, like previously stated, money is tight in these times. Anything will do. How about sending me some of that cornbread. Just the though of that sweet, crispy crunch cake makes my mouth water with envy for all who can eat a piece right now.


Soon I do hope this was will end. I have faith the South will pull through, and that we will all triumph with glory. I believe all events leading to this moment in time serve a purpose to all who have partaken in this adventure. There is a purpose in why this is all happening. There is a purpose in Lincoln being president, in General Lee leading us, and in you and I falling for one another. Even though Lincoln’s election was only by those of the bread-baking, wide mouthed, Yankees of the North, I know in my heart, that there is a purpose in it. Take this advice I have given you to heart like I.

















With all my love,


Clement





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