Dear Son: A Letter from the Revolution

By Susan P. Hunter

There’s no argument that the historiography of war can best be studied through those who lived it. But, even a few months away from the battlefield can lessen the depth and intensity of the service members’ memories. Fortunately for us, many service members memorialized their experiences in the form of letters. Sometimes these letters take on a logistic theme, detailing the events of their mission or giving reassurance of safety in a selfless effort to ease the worries of their loved ones at home. Other times, they resemble more of a last directive, as is the case with this letter I am about to share with you. 

I became fascinated with notes and missives from wartime as a result of a found treasure trove of correspondence from the Vietnam War, each letter being as evocative as the last. Reading history in real time through these heartfelt letters is as unique as the service members who wrote them. Although I didn’t know it at the time of discovery, these letters and the stories within would change my life’s direction. I am now dedicated to sharing their stories and providing a platform for our service members to detail their experiences. This has proven to enlighten and educate civilians, while serving as catharsis for our service members. 

Since publishing my book, 77 Letters, Operation Morale Booster: Vietnam, I have collaborated on a few projects with Barbara Harrison from Behind the Lines podcast and Andy Carroll from The Center for American War Letters; this blog will be one such project. Andy has an astounding collection of more than 150,000 letters from wartime, dating back as far as the Revolutionary War. Together, we will cull through our respective collections of letters and bring you some of the best of the best to enjoy. 

I thought it would be fitting to kick-off this blog with a letter from Andy’s collection written during our country’s first war, the American Revolution—written by 38-year-old, James Williams of Hanover, Virginia, to his son, Daniel. A treasure amplifying this soldier’s obedience to God, duty to his country, and love for his family, all in one letter to his son.

June 12, 1779

Dear Son,

This is the first chance I have had to write you. I am, by the cause of Providence, in the field on defense of my country. When I reflect on the matter, I feel myself distracted on both hands by this thought, that in my old age I should be obliged to take the field in defense of my rights and liberties, and that of my children. God only knows that it is not of choice, but of necessity, and from the consideration that I had rather suffer anything than lose my birthright, and that of my children.

When I come to lay down in the field, stripped of all the pleasure that my family connections afford me at home—surrounded by an affectionate wife and eight dear children, and all the blessings of life—when I reflect on my own distress, I feel for that of my family, on account of my absence from their midst; and especially for the mother, who sits like a dove that has lost its mate, having the weight of the family on her shoulders. 

These thoughts make me afraid that the son we carefully nursed in our youth may do something that would grieve his mother. Now, my son, if my favor is worth seeking, let me tell you the only step to procure it is the care of your tender mother—to please her is ten times more valuable than any other favor that you could do me in my person. 

I am sorry to have to inform you of the melancholy death of Anthony Griffin, which took place on the 11th instant, while out with a scouting party. Alighting from his horse, and leaning on his gun, it accidently went off, shooting him through the head. He never spoke after the accident. This is a fatal consequence of handling guns without proper care; they ought to be used with the greatest caution. The uncertainty of life ought to induce every man to prepare for death. 

Now, my son, I must bid you farewell. I commit you to the care of Providence, begging that you will try to obtain that peculiar blessing. May God bless you, my son, and give you grace to conduct yourself, in my absence, as becomes a dutiful son to a tender mother and the family. 

…I am, dear son, with great respect, your affectionate father,

Jas. Williams

—From Grace Under Fire, Letters of Faith in Times of War by Andrew Carroll. Reprinted with permission. 

If you’re interested in hearing more about 77 Letters, go here to listen to Susan’s appearance on AWTR.