A Letter from a Soldier in the Napoleonic Wars, 1813

My Dearest Eleanor, June 12, 1813 Lüneburg, Germany

I hope this letter finds you well, though I fear it may be but a pale reflection of my heart’s desire to be by your side. The days drag here, and the nights are even worse. The drumming of distant cannon fire lingers in my ears, but it is the memory of your voice—your soft laughter—that haunts me more than any sound of war. How I long to feel the warmth of your hand once more, the steady beat of your heart beneath your dress, the sweetness of your lips as they speak my name.

The battlefields here have changed me, Eleanor, in ways I fear I cannot explain. Yet, though I stand amidst smoke and blood, I carry the thought of you as if it were a shield against the horrors surrounding me. In the midst of everything, there is no greater joy than knowing you wait for me in England. Every evening, when the sun sinks low behind the horizon, I whisper your name into the wind, trusting that it will carry my love to you, wherever you may be.

I must admit, the time I’ve spent apart from you is both agony and a test of my resolve. I have witnessed death in all its forms, and each time, my only thought is of you—of how you might carry on without me, or how we might never again be as we were before I left. Yet, despite the bleakness of this war, I hold firm to the hope of returning to your arms. I know not when, or what I shall face on the field, but the dream of returning to your embrace is my anchor.

But I will not dwell on the uncertainty of the future. What is more pressing, dear Eleanor, is the truth that I cannot imagine my life without you. The thought of your face—soft and kind—gives me comfort, even in the darkest moments. It is for you I fight, for you I endure this suffering. And in the stillness of the night, when all is quiet save for the hum of insects and the sighing of trees, I imagine that perhaps you feel the same.

If ever there is a moment when the weight of waiting grows too heavy, my love, I want you to remember this: my heart is yours, bound and tethered to yours, regardless of time or distance. The war, the world, and even fate itself may come between us, but my love for you will never falter. That is my promise to you, no matter where this battle may take me.

Know that I shall return, Eleanor. It may be weeks, months, or years, but I shall return. I dream of the day I stand before you, no longer a soldier of war, but a man of peace. And when I kiss you again, I shall never again let go.

Yours, Thomas

Reply from Eleanor, 1813

June 20, 1813 Portsmouth, England

My Dearest Thomas,

Your letter arrived today, and I have read it over and over, as if to commit your words to memory, to hold them close to me as I would your hand. I must confess, though I knew the pain of war would weigh upon you, I had not anticipated how deeply it would affect my own heart. To know that you, my dearest Thomas, are surrounded by such sorrow, yet carry my love with you, is both a balm and a wound. I want nothing more than to be by your side, to ease the burdens you carry, but I know not how to cross such a vast distance, nor how to fight the battles you now face.

I am proud of you, Thomas, though it is a pride that is mixed with fear. Every time I hear of another battle, I cannot help but wonder if this will be the one that takes you from me. Your bravery is what keeps me from losing hope, yet it is the thought of you being in harm's way that fills me with such dread. Still, I take comfort in your words, in the promise you have made to return to me. I pray to God that He will grant you safe passage through this madness.

You ask me to be patient, and I shall. My love for you grows with each passing day, and though I find it hard to bear this separation, I will wait for you, as long as it takes. I dream of the day when you will return to me, and when that day comes, I shall never let you go.

Every day, I walk by the sea, the waves crashing against the shore, and I imagine that the wind carries your voice to me. It is my only solace. And so, my love, until you return, I shall hold you in my heart, as I always have, and I shall pray for your safety with every breath.

Yours, now and forever, Eleanor

Letter from Thomas, 1814

March 4, 1814 Paris, France

My Sweet Eleanor,

It is with a heart both heavy and full of joy that I write to you today. The war is drawing to a close, and I find myself, at long last, far from the front lines. The sounds of cannons have fallen silent, and I feel the weight of their absence more than I ever thought possible. Though I stand in the midst of a city once ravaged by war, I can think of nothing but you, my love. The sight of your face is etched in my memory, but how I long to see it again in person.

I have come to realize something, Eleanor. The pain of this war, the suffering and loss I have witnessed, have taught me to value the simple moments—the moments I once took for granted. I dream of the days we shall spend together, when the world will be at peace, and all we shall have to worry about is the contentment we bring to each other. I shall cherish the quiet of our home, the laughter of children, and the warmth of your smile.

I am sorry, my love, for the time I have been away. I know that it has been long, and at times unbearable, but I assure you, the thought of you has kept me going. It is for you that I fought, for you that I endured the trials of this terrible conflict. And now, it is for you that I wish to rebuild my life.

The army has promised us our return soon, and I pray that it will be sooner rather than later. As I stand here in Paris, I feel a sense of calm I have not known in many months, for I know that my next steps will be toward you. The horrors of war will fade into distant memories, and I will return to the woman I love, to the woman who has been my light through this dark journey.

Until that day, Eleanor, my heart remains with you. I am counting the days until I can hold you again, until I can kiss you and promise that never again will I leave your side.

Yours, in love and longing, Thomas

Reply from Eleanor, 1814

March 12, 1814 Portsmouth, England

My Beloved Thomas,

Your letter brought tears to my eyes, and I find myself both rejoicing and weeping at the same time. I cannot tell you how long I have dreamed of this moment—of knowing that the war is finally coming to an end, and that you, my love, are on your way back to me.

The news of your safe return fills my heart with such overwhelming joy that I can hardly breathe. I have prayed for this day, and now it seems it is almost here. I can hardly believe it. When I walk along the shore, I imagine that the waves are no longer merely carrying my thoughts to you, but your steps toward me. I think of the moment I will see you again, and I wonder how I shall ever be able to express the depth of my love for you, the gratitude I feel for your safe return.

I will be waiting for you, Thomas. I will be waiting with open arms, as I always have, and when you arrive, we shall never again be parted by the cruelty of war. You are home now, and that is all that matters. I dream of the life we shall build together—of peace, of love, of joy. I shall be yours, forever.

Yours, always, Eleanor

Final Letter from Thomas, 1814

April 10, 1814 London, England

My Dearest Eleanor,

The war is over. I have crossed the sea, walked through the streets of London, and now I am finally here, closer to you than I have been in so long. I feel like a man reborn, my soul lightened of its burdens, for soon I shall see you again. I cannot describe the joy I feel, for it surpasses all words.

I am on my way to Portsmouth now. Know that I carry you with me in my heart, and that my steps are hurried only by the thought of your face. It has been too long, Eleanor, and I long to kiss you, to hold you, and to share with you the love I have carried through the darkest of times.

We will be together soon, and then, my love, we shall begin our lives anew. No more war, no more separation—just you and I, forever.

Yours, now and always, Thomas

Epilogue

Their reunion was everything they had dreamed of, and more. The years of waiting, of writing letters in the dark of night, came to an end in that moment. Their love endured, for it had been forged in the fires of war and sealed by the promise of peace.