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September 6, 1814
It’s colder here than I expected. I thought the summer would stretch all year round, but America has four seasons, the same as Ireland. We all expected better. There isn’t more food, better work or guaranteed safety in the cities of this country. We’re all starving and we can’t walk outside without the threat of violence from the people who hate us simply because we came here for freedom. We weren’t born on this soil and that is all it took for these people to judge us. I like them even less than the criminals and crooked policemen back in our country. Maybe it was a mistake coming here, hoping for a better life, but we can’t give up now. Accepting defeat equals death and I won’t accept the downfall of all those I hold dear. Aileen is barely holding on and she needs the most of our rations. She is expecting our first child. I’m taking in less and less food because I know she needs it more.
We won’t last much longer, which means there’s only one option left for us. To survive, we’ll have to make one more run for it. It shouldn’t be too difficult since we’ve done it before.
Until next time,
Séamus O’Reilly