I am writing from the perspective of a Black Union Soldier to his children at the time of the Civil War.
Dear Jeremiah and Harriet,
I am writing to you from the folds of my bedroll. Once soft, it is now crusted and yellow, crackling against my skin. The night is silent, almost eerie, c'ept for the raucous cries of the wounded, agonizing in the pale moonlight. I feel more at risk sitting hear amongst the bitter cold and disease, the charging through the battlefield in my tattered shreds. I hope this letter finds you well and safe, far away from this blasted war. I don't believe in all of this bloodshed. But I do believe in Lincon, and the pride of the North. I believe that thy Lord will look down upon our battles, and will shine His light on the blackened hearts of the confederates. Don't hold grudges against your countrymen, they too will see the light, and accept our equality. They have become our sworn enemies, but one day, they will be our brethren once more. Too many brave men have perished on this very Earth for there to be any other outcome.
Stay strong, and pray for peace. I will come home to you again.
Jonathon Berkely
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