We have been away but several days and I already miss you. As I write this, the carriage is on its way to train, where I will be carried to the coast, and onwards to adventure. The Lord in all his grace only knows where that shall be. I beg you , in all of your beauty and perfection, to forgive me if my letters come far apart, as one can not be sure of the reliability of post in such far off places as Munanijihabad.
I must admit that, while excitement and steely resolve fill my heart, I cannot deny that part of me feels trepidation, and already the comfort of home tugs at me. It is unnecessary to say I do not miss father, and the blacksmiths apprenticeship that doubtfully would have me in its grips had I not taken this opportunity, but I long to see your smile, and hear your voice, and I would be lying if I said that mother's Meat Pie's have not lingered in my mind, for the food in these road side taverns that the carriage has stopped at have been abysmal, at best. It can hardly be worse then the carriage however! I know that father was unhappy with my decision to join the Legions, but I am saddened to learn that he is taking it out on my rear, for this carriage is of such an old design, I suspect that it was carrying passengers during the reign of Henry the VIII. The cloth laid down on the benches provide such little comfort that the other, baser passengers (of which there is three) have taken to bunching their coats as cushions, and hold no suspicion, they are needed, for if I had not seen them with my own eyes, I would assume the wheels to be squares!
The driver, too, is a curious figure. Hunched over, I suspect him to be either of great age or a hunchback. To tell which is impossible, however, because at all times he wears a great and soiled cloak of a unidentifiable color that shadows his body, and a bowler hat, pulled so low on his face that it is a wonder he can see at all. I suspect, as well, that he is consumptive, for he has a hacking cough that is of such strength and venom that we hear it through the sounding board and into the carriage its self, even over the clashing racket that all such conveyances make when in motion.
My four companions are an odd group. Two are Cornishmen, bound, I suspect, for the Legion, like myself. They are of little means, and travel even more frugal then I, eating only bread and water, and sleeping with the horses when possible. This has made them unpleasant traveling mates to be stuck with in the small, wooden box that is our mode of transportation, but in all other senses they are polite enough, though they tend to jabber to each other in what I suspect to be their native dialect, only speaking in English when spoken to, and even that is difficult to understand.
My third companion is an curiosity, to be sure. His clothes were once fineries, and he has the air of a gentleman, however I suspect that, if he was one, he has fallen upon hard times, for though his coat is fine and well cut, it has seen much wear, and while his gloves appear to be kid-skin, there is not a few holes in them. He speaks not at all, and feigns sleep when I attempt to start conversation with him. Where he is bound, and what his purpose is, I can only guess.
The carriage is slowing down, and I must cut myself short, for we close on the train station, and I have much to do when we do arrive.
I await your response with the thirst of a thousand deserts.
Your love
Johan B Hackworth
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