My Dearest William
I live every day in the hope that I will receive a letter or some word of your condition. My love, oh how sorely you are missed. The children are growing in spite of the harsh times in which we live. Little Will is showing that he possesses the intelligence and will of his Papa. Grandfather is completely enchanted by his inquisitive nature and finds ways even now to spoil him. Poor Annabelle cries so whenever she is startled by a loud noise. I know she will settle, when her dear Papa returns. Your wish for us to stay with my parents was truly God given my love. Their love and support for you holds no limit and the children have been a blessing to us all. For they have provided a distraction from the horrors of the times we live in.
Oh Lord, why do I prattle on about such foolish things. I fear it is the need to pretend that all is normal. I find my self dreaming that you are away purchasing horses and not a combatant in this terrible war. Please forgive me my love. For I know you would not want me to go on so like a child. But, I sorely miss your loving presence. I still fear I am but a shadow of my self when you are absent. Oh the tricks that fortune plays, you are so near to me in spirit and yet you are lifetimes away.
Your Loving Wife
Phoebe
Dearest Phoebe,
I am sending this letter in the care of Robert Moon, who was paroled
yesterday, so I trust you will have it in a few weeks' time. God grant that
I hear from you and the children as well.
Phoebe, have no fear for me. The rumors of my injury far exceed the wound itself, for in truth, it was but a trifle. I was unconscious for a moment and suffered no more than a few scratches. Some of our friends were not as fortunate. Maj Hill of the 46th VA lost his arm and we had several privates killed. The surgeons are always about their grim work and yesterday I saw a pile of amputated limbs near as high as my waist.
The explosion that incapacitated me occurred just opposite our lines and
formed a gigantic crater. The fool Yanks charged into the hole, could not
get out, and there was a fearful slaughter. God spared me participating in that turkey shoot.
But I am out of it now, and in truth, do not miss trench life in Petersburg,
though it is a sin to say so. I was captured and taken to Charles City,
where Grant makes his headquarters, and then on to Boston. I am treated well, though I have dropped a few pounds from our diet of beans and condemned meat.
Phoebe, I am heartily sick of war and now wish for nothing more than a life
of peace with you and our children. I worry about you so, and regret that
you have had to contend with hardships far greater than those I have known.
But God, in his wisdom has spared us both, and with his blessing we may yet live out our allotted years in peace and love.
Your devoted husband,
William
PostScript
A few months ago my grandmother died, and as executor of her estate, I was tasked with cleaning up the family home and sorting through a mountain of memorabilia in the attic. It was here I discovered an old brassbound trunk,and in it, a stack of faded letters exchanged between my grandmother's parents during the time of her father's service in the Confederate Army. I had known nothing of this, but as I read I felt myself drawn into their world, during a time when families were torn apart in the conflict that split our nation. Of special interest are the two letters shown above, that detail the events surrounding General Ambrose Burnside' attempt to break the Confederate lines at Petersburg by tunneling under them and detonating a quantity of gunpowder. The resulting Battle of the Crater was a debacle for Union arms, prompting Lincoln to remark, "Only Burnsides could have wrested one last spectacular defeat from the jaws of victory!" My great-grandfather was subsequently captured and served the last months of the war as a prisoner of war in Fort Warren, an island in Boston harbor. After Lee's surrender at Appomattox, he returned home to Phoebe and his children and lived the rest of his life in Scottsville, VA in peace and blissful obscurity.
Gold trophy winner
Adding your comment:
bravo poet for a spectacular read
Lita
