February 3, 1862
Alfred Jones in Washington D.C. to Matthew Williams in Quebec
Dear Mattie,
If I had an entire ream of paper and a barrel of ink with which to write, I could never write enough letters to make up for the worry I've caused you. I'm so very sorry, and hope you can forgive me for burdening your thoughts. Unfortunately, I have very little paper to my name now, so I apologize in advance for what I'm sure is a very poorly-written letter. I shall blame Arthur's Trent for eating up all the drafting paper I had to compose such a "pristine" apology. In case he has asked, please inform him that no, no one helped me to write it. I knew he would assume so as soon as I pasted the stamps on.
I was quite surprised to have received so many letters from you, some dating back months. They've not given me- that is, the Post Office has been under considerable strain here in Washington for about a year now. Davis—the so-styled President of the Confederates—seduced nearly all of D.C.'s postmen into defecting to the South, and they took all their damn records with them. It's been a nightmare getting things up and running again, and Lincoln's Postmaster is a real piece of work, from what they've told me. The fact that my letter to Arthur even made it off the coast is news to me. I'm grateful he received it. I hope he chokes on it.
I am glad the entire hullabaloo with the Trent has resolved itself, and I would like to forgive Arthur, and I truly mean that, no matter what you think of me. However, Britain has single-handedly turned a rebellion into a full-scale war by recognizing the Confederacy as a belligerent. They have made him- them- that is, the Confederacy, more powerful than he- they would have been otherwise. Arthur did not start this war, I know that, but he sure as hell hasn't made it any easier for me. The Confederates are out there begging for his support, and he's giving them hope, which they're using to fuel battle after vicious battle, and my men are bleeding out by the thousands every day.
I'm afraid there is little personal news I'm at liberty to share, that which I have is both dull and dreadful. I am not fighting; I've not been allowed. Because of the nature of the war, Congress deemed it necessary to keep me in cust- out of the way until things die down. I long to be with my men, to support Lincoln and his Generals at the front, but have been expressly forbidden from doing so. Even so, far away from the fighting though I may be, my body finds a way to join the casualties. Every tooth, eyelash, and toenail seems determined to take its turn on a never-ending orbit of aches and pains that accost me each day. I do not believe you've been in a war of this scale in some time, or perhaps ever, and I thank God for it. These new machines the humans have devised to kill each other, they are true horrors. Even if I cannot see them in action, I can feel them.
One small balm to my daily trials have been your letters, which I am still sorting through. Your generous gift of the maple candy and the book did indeed reach me intact, though the candy did not remain so for long. I shared some with President Lincoln, who passed some on to his family. Lincoln himself has confessed he was not positive he enjoyed the texture, but assures me his wife and children adored it. In fact, he's recently complained to me that Tad, his youngest, has been asking him for weeks now if they might travel to Canada solely to tap a maple tree there. (I quipped that we have our own in Vermont. I did not mention that you've been perfecting your recipe for nigh two hundred years and that you refuse to share it with me, because I am a decent sort of brother and would hate to cast you as a villain). The book was enjoyable; you must teach me sometime about what you've done to the French language, there were portions I did not quite understand.
Speaking of French, if you or Arthur have any contact with Francis, tell him to keep well away from the Southerners and their so called "ambassadors". The mess he's making in Mexico has the rebels cozying up to any Frenchman they think might be looking for their next great international investment, and so help me if any of them so much as look at Texas, I'll—
I'm sorry. I told you this letter would be ill-composed. I don't mean to be short with you. As I've been causing you innumerable worries, so I have been causing myself immeasurable stress. It continues to manifest itself in ways I never before imagined. Don't ever get into a civil war, Mattie, and if you do…
But you won't. You're far better than I, in that regard. Arthur is a very lucky man to have you at his side, I hope he realizes that. I miss you terribly. I am running out of paper. Thank you for the gifts. God keep you. I do not know when I can next write. My time is not my own.
With many apologies and much love,
Your Brother Alfred Jones
Historical Notes:
1. In June 1861, the Confederate States' Postmaster, John H. Reagan, sent out letters by courier to all the heads of the U.S. Post Office in Washington, D.C., with an invitation for all those of southern heritage or with whom the southern cause resonated to abandon their posts and join the Confederate States Postal Service. Nearly all of the officers took him up on the offer (it is important to remember, the District of Columbia is sandwiched in between Virginia and Maryland, a Confederate and a Union state, respectively. D.C. was both the U.S. Capital and a border region between the North and South). However, they did not only abandon their jobs and defect to the south—they also took receipt books, maps, account ledgers, and route information with them. For this stunt, Reagan became known as "the man who stole the U.S. Post Office".
2. Meanwhile, Lincoln's Postmaster, Montgomery Blair, was generally regarded as a stubborn, opinionated, and overall unpleasant man: just the type of man, Lincoln thought, it might take to fight the Confederate States' opposing office.
3. Tad, Lincoln's youngest son, was actually called Theodore. His nickname, Tad, was given to him by Lincoln himself, who observed that he was "as wiggly as a tadpole" when he was a baby. This has no historic bearing on the story, but I think it's precious.
4. Vermont is the state responsible for the most maple syrup production in the United States
5. At the same time the United States was busy with its Civil War, France was busy installing an Austrian archduke as the new emperor of Mexico. No, really. Known as the Second French intervention in Mexico, or the Second Franco-Mexican War, or the Mexican Adventure, this was an ultimately successful attempt by Napoleon III to establish a European-style monarchy in Mexico that was subservient to the French Empire. It started off because of some boring and complicated concerns around loans, and originally France invaded Mexico in 1861 with the help of Britain and Spain to protect trade interests, but once the other nations realized France was after land, silver, and power, they quietly bowed out, made peace negotiations with Mexico, and went on their merry ways. France would eventually install the Austrian archduke Maximilian von Habsburg as Emperor of Mexico, a title which he would retain until 1867, when Mexico (with a little help from a post-war United States) would kick out the French. I've probably got a few details wrong here, but that's the jist! So, as far as Alfred's concerns: basically, he sees that France is already in North America stirring the pot with all the wealth, power, and influence of Napoleon III, and he's worried that so close to Mexico, the Confederates might try to sidle up to France and convince them to help them out. This was a genuine concern for the Union at the time, though it should be pointed out, they were far more concerned about British recognition of the Confederacy, which was always more likely than French recognition.