These are the letters from the second day of the Grading
War. If you landed here by accident and don’t know what you’re reading,
click here for the backstory.
6 December 2013, 10:05am
Dearest Marcus,
I take up my pen this morning to inform you once more of my
disconsolate station. Please pardon the poor condition of this missive.
You no doubt hold it in your delicate hand now soaked and tattered by
the wretched weather conditions that have beset us. Pardon also the
weak penmanship, the lack of Poetry in these lines, the ineptitude
of my authorship. An icy cold paralyzes both hands and mind this morn.
Only Prayer and memories of you keep my Soul safe from the same frozen
ruination.
I return to the front today with a heavy heart as I
have yet to receive a reply from you. Our young mail-boy, Josiah, was
always a delicate and sick creature. I pray his fragility has not
prevented him from dispatching his most important of Duties: carrying
home my news and my love to you, dearest Marcus. What little I have seen
of the Grading War, already far too much for one Soul, has convinced me
that its greatest cruelty is this unbearable loneliness.
Steeling myself once more for today’s fight, I expectantly await some affirmative report of your Welfare and remain, as ever,
Constantly Yours,
Leigh M. Johnson
PS- Unfortunately, I am unable to send news of our friend Charles,
who is stationed nearby but from whom I have received no word of late.
You should carry a positive report to his family nonetheless. In the
meantime, we can hope together that Providence finds a way to make your
false report a True one.
3:26pm
Dearest Marcus,
I pray this finds you well and taken neither by fever, hunger,
exhaustion nor the wretched loneliness that animates my pen now. It is
late afternoon here. The Wintry Hell, which I only scarcely described
in my previous letter, continues. It is punishing, dear Marcus, as
merciless as it is relentless, simultaneously freezing and burning what
remains of my and my compatriots’ Will to persevere. I will not
frighten you with the horrific details, but today’s battles have been
particularly disheartening.
And so, I have withdrawn to a
nearby billet where I have found a moment to write, a hearth and, I
confess, also a bottle of spirits.
This moment to think on
you, the comfort of the fire and the blankets here are a welcome
respite, but the spirits’ warmth is truly a Godsend. I must confess that
some of the others look upon me now askance and with the Judgment of a
stern Parson for my present indulgence. They insist it is far too early
in our struggle to mollycoddle the drunkard’s vice.
To them,
and to you, I say: Each must endeavor to survive this War as she can and
as Providence permits, for there are no Guidebooks in the State of
Nature. I doubt I will return to the front again today, though I will remain, as ever,
Very Fondly Yours,
Leigh M. Johnson
PS- It pains me to relay that I am no longer certain of our friend Charles’
fate. He promised regular reports, but the silence from his front is
now deafening. Please say a prayer tonight that the Darkness has not
fallen over his eyes.
PSS- As you are able, please also send report of Josiah.
6:01pm
Dearest Leigh,
I pray this meager note finds you comfortable and protected from the
many and various enemies and obstacles that persistently nip at our
heels. It is my sincere hope that you suffer from none of the sickness,
despair and loneliness that dog our weary steps and invade our mirthless
dreams. As I hurry to complete my note, night falls. The cold and
the persistent rain have conspired to place a blanket of ice over my
fellow soldiers and me. The cold is merciless, my dear Leigh. I fear
that many will not survive till the morning. And yet, we must push on,
even in the face of this despair. Our dogged determination would have it
no other way.
As we are wont to do from time to time, a few
of the men and I gathered around a small fire to recount merrier times
in the Grading War. There was Abraham, a sturdy fellow from Albany, New
York, Frederick, a jovial blatherskite from Pittsburgh, and Peter from
Dayton, Ohio – slow to talk but quick to laugh. All recounted moments
that made them smile in the midst of this seemingly endless War. All
seemed able to, if just for a moment, make some sense of the chaos in
which we find ourselves. When they had all finished, they turned to me. I
tried, Leigh, I truly tried, to conjure up a story that would bring
some small solace, some vanishing wisp of pleasure to these men with
battered bodies and broken spirits. But alas, I could conjure no image
of a happier time. And so we fell silent, and took solace in the heat of
a slowly dying fire.
When I read your note, I was heartened
by the fact that you had found the comfort of a fire, blankets and a
bottle of spirits. I take joy in your indulgence! And pay no mind to
those who would interfere or otherwise hinder your justifiable pursuit
of respite. I say to you, and anyone else who should happen upon these
musings, you are more than justified in your pursuits, for you too know
the unspeakable pain and indescribable anguish of this Grading War. So,
find your pleasure. Find your comfort. Revel in what little sanctuary
you discover along the stony road we trod.
One of the ancient
Greeks wrote that “In our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by
drop upon the heart until, against our will, comes Wisdom – by the awful
Grace of God.” If this is any true measure of Wisdom, I daresay that
you and I – and all who endure this Grading War – are wise indeed.
I will try to write you again, but I cannot be certain of it. I will remain, as ever,
Very Fondly Yours,
Charles W. McKinney
Click here to proceed to DAY THREE of the Grading War Letters