'Til Victory or Death

October 10, 1781 - Yorktown, Virginia

To my heart's dearest comfort, Susie.

I last wrote to you in a panic but ready for battle. We began the siege under the command of Generals Washington and Rochambeau. I am now writing to you my dearest just one day after the bombardment of Yorktown started. Much has transpired since I last wrote you.

With help from the French forces, we were able to surround the enemy cutting off their supply routes and reinforcements. It allowed us to begin digging trenches in the hell-like heat, the air thick as molasses in winter. No matter, we knew we were on the verge of history, of building something for the future of our families, no matter the cost. Some dug the trenches, the others moved and positioned cannons, howitzers, and mortars within striking distance of British forces, not easy work. These boys had everything positioned just a day ago ready to put an end to the ruling of King George, The cruelty of Cornwallis, and his men. Susie, if we are victorious, we will change the world...forever!

Then it began. In his grand manner, General Washington himself fired the first shot of the siege yesterday afternoon! Word has spread among the men that it struck, of all places, a redcoat's dinner table. A most laughable irony if true. Seventy heavy guns or so between us and the French unleashed unimaginable hell on the Brits. Through afternoon, moonrise, and to sunrise we continued the bombardment. I was not so lucky.

They tell me I was hit by the butt end of a musket as one of our men took a fatal strike to the gut from cannonball. I last remember the noise, the ungodly booms, and blasts. Pops, crashes, screams! I saw you, and the children. I envisioned us working and playing on the farm. Smiling over a warm family supper. I saw our home, decorated with American bunting, celebrating our newly found freedoms. A vision of the future perhaps. I felt longing, and peace. I swear I saw Red. He was smiling and waving to me. He looked goofy and happy, like I remembered him. Then darkness.

That is all I remember before waking to find fresh bandages wrapping my leg and belly with the painful sting of stitching on my head. Looking down, I was bound sitting on a dirt floor. It was a rough stockade, a makeshift prison at best. As my vision cleared, I caught sight of Hawthorne, Pritchard, and my steadfast comrade, Benjamin "Fox" Henshaw, watching over me. I was weak with hunger, with only hardtack provided and what I assumed was dirty water to satisfy my thirst. My prison mates and I had to divide 2 of those biscuits between the four of us. The room smelled of filth, with a corner reserved for excrement and urine.

Fortune smiled upon me. I was able to strike a deal with a guard in exchange for legal counsel after the war. In return, he was able to provide parchment and quill so I could write you. He swore the letters from me and my fellow prisoners would be safely delivered. I then glanced over to Fox, and he told me everything he knew. With weary eyes, I listened, praying for closure and understanding.

With his eyes brimming full of tears, Henshaw recounted the sheer chaos of the battle. Cannonballs screamed overhead, crashing beside us. Some hit the earth and skipped through our lines tearing away limbs and lives. Mortars burst, muskets cracked, bayonets clashed, steel on steel, or worst piercing flesh. Fox had been fighting in the same line as I, charging forward, bayonet fixed.

He said I took out a Brit, three perhaps. Our line charged into close combat, muskets emptied, steel in hand. He looked over just as I leveled my musket to fire when the butt of a fallen soldier cracked my head. Staggering, Fox recalled the moment a lead ball tore through flesh into my upper leg, and before I could fall, a redcoat's bayonet found my gut. Benjamin rushed to my aid, throwing himself over me, sheltering me as the battle raged on.

According to Fox, our line pushed forward, leaving us in the rears. As the field where we lay quieted, A redcoat playing opossum rose to his feet, rolled Fox over, dark green British eyes glinting into Fox's and grinned, the slightest of brown teeth showing. That was the last thing he remembered before waking up in this hell, with Hawthorne, Pritchard, and me. It was only then I noticed the black, blue, and purple bump on the side of his head.

Why we were taken prisoner remains unclear, but we are grateful to be alive. The guard told me that the bayonet barely pierced my gut. A fraction deeper and well, I wouldn't be here writing this letter. We can only pray for victory. Victory, and soon.

I peered over towards Hawthorne and Pritchard, who continue to remain silent, though not for a lack of pain. Even in the dim light, it is clear they were gravely wounded, most likely from cannon fire.

Hawthorne sits with a bloody cloth wrapped tightly just below his right knee, a crude tourniquet. Though he is torn with agony, he remains deathly silent, his expression dark with vengeance, like he is waging a war in his own mind.

Pritchard continues to lay on his back, shackled at the ankle to the wall. He is missing his entire left arm, only a remnant remains where his shoulder once was. He remains quiet but not as silent as Hawthorne. I hear the sounds of mumbled prayers. He will be lucky to make it through the night.

My only love, Susie, if I make it home to you, Nora, Ruthie, Jon, Samuel, Patience, and Ben, we owe everything to Red and Fox. I miss my friend Red every day and I remain grateful for his sacrifice. I hope someday for you to meet Fox. We call him that for a reason, one I shall save for another letter. I would like for you to do me a favor. Red's family is only a town over. Please write to his wife Martha Redfern and recount his sacrifice. Offer support as she struggles with the loss of Thomas. I will personally visit upon my return...if I return.

To Ben, if the worst shall happen and I never return I want you to know my faith in your ability to be the man of the house. At thirteen, it will be your responsibility to protect our family, plow and work the farm. Be nice and patient with your brothers and sisters. They will look up to you for guidance. Find work, our family will need resources to survive. Look after the livestock and teach your brothers to help. Hug your mother and give her a kiss for me. I hope to see you on the other side of this war, a free man just like you. I love you, Ben.

Patience, Nora, Samuel, Jon, and my youngest Ruthie. Time has gone by so quickly. I have missed your birthdays, milestones, and achievments. I promise you that I will make every effort to come home. But the reality of being a prisoner of war leaves many uncertanties. If...I cannot return, I left instructions for Ben above. Listen to him, and try not to fight. Your mother will need you to be kind to one another, always obey her. I have longed to see each of you, if only once more. Say many prayers that I can come home. I am not sure if even prayers will help. I remain steadfast on my promise to you, and I will always do my best to fulfill that promise.

Susie, my love, it has broken my heart to write to the children as I have. I do not know my future if my wounds become infected. We can only hope for a swift victory and a good doctor. I dream, even in pain of lying beside you, our bodies matched in a solemn embrace, warm bodies on a cold eve. When in camp, I would stare at the night sky, wishing I was holding hands with you taking in the stars. One day soon, we will make that dream a reality in our new nation. I love you and I think of you every waking minute of every day, and dream of you at night.

Good night my love,

Elias Mercer