Dearest Jessica,  August 8, 1861

My journey to grandmother’s house has been long, and the grasslands of Hannibal Missouri are far less spectacular than the towering buildings of the city. I write to you to tell you of my travels, and the glorious adventures that I had along the road.

It started that warm summer day, July 7th. The war was not but a far cry, echoing in the distant south. The heat from the sun warmed my neck as I left New York, heading the long way to Hannibal. I had been riding for a fortnight, when I found myself stopping to rest just outside Manasses, a small town in Virginia. In the early hours of the morning I heard yelling. Men charged through the brush brandishing muskets. I darted into a bush, peering out as the men charged into a clearing. Very quickly I felt the ground tremble, Union soldiers came riding from over the knoll, fierce battle cries echoing through the air. I don’t remember much from the battle but I remember the noise, the cries of dying men ringing through the valley. 

Both sides were poorly trained, and horrifically led. It was out of political pressure other civilians told me that Union general Irvin McDowell came with his barely trained forces across Bull Run. I do not pride the confederacy for their military expertise, for confederate general  P. G. T. Beauregard and his forces were hardly superior in training or tactics. The battle can be summed as roughly 36,000 men with hardly any experience running around in chaos brandishing muskets. Once confederate reinforcements arrived, it was a grim defeat for the Union. Without the aid of General Joseph E. Johnston, the confederate forces would surely have had a different fate; the war may have had a different fate. I later learned that the Union lost 460 men, with over 1,000 wounded. The confederacy had similar numbers, with 387 killed and 1,500 wounded. This war will be long and hard Jessica, and what does it accomplish anyway? With nothing to do in Hannibal I ponder that question, what will the war result in? That reminds me of another encounter I had during my travels.

I fear that the battles may come closer to our home of New York, if so I beg you to flee north. I may stay and fight, for the ideals of the war are clearer now. I see that we are fighting not for land but for the rights of other people. The war makes sense now, and I can’t keep ideally standing by watching the south continue their atrocities. Dearest Jessica, I write to you in hopes to see you soon, for the days stretch on and the nights remain sleepless. Once this war is over we will see each other again, in a new and beautiful America.

Best Wishes,

                       Reginald Wellings.