Becky,
I miss you so much. You don’t know
what it is like to be friendless among the soldiers. I talk to some of them,
but most of the interaction I have with them is pulling a bullet out of their
leg, or their arm. I had no idea of what I was getting myself into. I need you
here with me Becky, you are my best friend.
I have grown to hate war in the few
short weeks I have been gone. All the blood, hate, and destruction is tearing the soldiers apart. They march to battle a weary,
discouraged group. They look like they are walking to the gallows, and they
might as well be. When you walk onto the battlefield, you look into the
soldiers eyes, and they know they are going to die. Others are different, they
stand their ground, and really fight, but most can barely stand and shoot at
the Southerners.
When I first came as a nurse, I
thought there would be a tent, or a lodge where I
could tend to the soldiers. I was dead wrong. I am out there dodging bullets,
trying to save the lives of our troops. I want so much to run and hide during
battle, but I cannot, I have a job to do, and there are not many others willing
to be nurses like me.
I tried to send a letter to my father,
but the military stopped it, and sent it back, with a note on the front that
says ‘General Grant cannot accept letters at the time’. I do not think they
understand he is my father. I long so much to see him again. To hear news of
how the war is going, because here at camp w only hear news of battles won in
the surrounding areas.
Some days, the cold is almost
unbearable. It is so cold I sleep in what I am going to wear the next day, so
that I don’t have to undress in the frigid morning air. I long to be at home, laying on the floor reading a book, next to the fireplace in
my room. I haven’t seen a mirror in days, so I know my appearance must be
dirty, and crude. I don’t want people to think of me as dirty and crude.
At night I lay in my bunk, wondering
why I ran away in the first place. I guess I wanted the excitement, or just to
get away from the seriousness of life at home alone with father. I don’t really
know anymore. I want to run, and keep running away until I reach a place of
eternal happiness and light. Is that what heaven is like? Heaven, the thought
of heaven seems so far away as I am scampering
pathetically to and fro, trying to care for the dying men. I know my luck will
run out someday, Becky. I cannot dodge bullets forever. Write soon Becky, I
need to hear of something other than death.
Sincerely
Yours,
Alyssa
May Grant