Wartime Letters Home: Dear Son,

Two things may surprise you with this letter: the fact it was written during this country's first war—the American Revolution, and aside from the formality of the language, the letter's content being of such relevance to one that could have been written in current times.

Place ourselves back in these times—resources like paper and ink were scarce and expensive and therefore reserved for officers and the affluent. The delivery system could hardly be considered a "system." Missives and letters written during the Revolutionary War were usually hand-delivered from point A to point B with no regularity of speed and no guarantee of a successful delivery. Additionally, many of the folks in the 1700s were functionally illiterate and therefore shied away from putting their thoughts down on paper. Couple all of those factors with the over two centuries of opportunities for these letters to be lost, damaged, or destroyed—we've got ourselves a national treasure.

As far as the content of this endearing letter from father to son, I would have to believe the sentiments are not too dissimilar to the words of wisdom given from the front lines today. In reading this letter the first time through, I was taken aback in the best way possible by the respect James Williams wrote to his son, calling upon him to step up and be the man of the house and to be mindful to not act in such a way that would upset his mother. His word choice delivers his message delicately, all the while not bringing focus to the danger of his call to duty.

This letter is truly one to cherish as it celebrates his obedience to God's will, his duty to country, and his love for his family all in one letter home to his son. Arguably, it is by Divine Providence that this letter is one of the few which has survived over 240 years of existence, and therefore, it is my honor to bring it to your attention.

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 accidentally 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. http://www.warletters.us