September 20, 1862

Mrs. Rosaline Miller

327 Landfall drive

Jamestown, Vergina

My Dearest Rose,

I hope this letter finds you well, my dear. I am writing to you now near Sharpsburg, Maryland. I’m sure you have heard the news by now of the battle of Antietam. The letdown must be hard for the country, but you must only imagine the pain we soldiers feel. Many of our men have died today, many men whom I considered dearly close friends. It’s almost hard to believe. They say that the yanks found the battle plans on an old cigar wrapper, but I’m sure it was only a myth.

Camp has been… lonely, to say the very least, my dear. We fought only three days ago, so the fear from the battle still hangs over us like a thick fog. We have barely spoken to one another recently, if not to prepare food and do tasks around the camp. A few men still gamble with a deck of cards, but I would rather not play. Food has also been low after the battle. We were so sure that we would win, we ate more than our fill on the days leading up to it. Now that we’re feeding off the scraps we have left, I can’t say a can of beans and tough crackers quite fill the troops’ hunger. A lot of men have been writing. Not just letters, but stories, the fantastical ones like we used to write as kids. It’s nice to imagine life could be like the fantasies from when we were younger when everyone lived in peaceful harmony.

Dearest Rose, I have been thinking a lot about the war these past few days. As it goes on, it feels more and more unnecessary to me. I know this may come as a surprise to you, but I believe we may be on the wrong side of the war. What we are fighting for, it just doesn’t seem right anymore. At first, I felt proud to be a Confederate soldier, fighting for my state, my land, to keep it from the evil yanks. But now, it feels more like neither of the sides are really fighting for something. We shoot and kill men only to win, and less to save those that we are fighting for.

Many men have become desensitized to war, but I can not help but flinch every time I fire my gun. I imagine every child and wife when the news comes of their father passing in the war to my bullet. I could never imagine letting that happen to you and our dear Willow. But I mustn’t think of this too much. I may only be crazy from the war, after all. Anyhow, I wish you and Willow the best back at home. Be sure to say hi to Ms. Josilyn for me, and remember to care for the orchid while I am away.

  All my love,

 Jonathan Miller