Army Letters From An Officer's Wife, 1871-1888, By Frances M.A. Roe

















































































































































 -  It is dreadful - and
seems impossible. They write that he became more and more despondent,
until finally it was impossible - Page 74
Army Letters From An Officer's Wife, 1871-1888, By Frances M.A. Roe - Page 74 of 410 - First - Home

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It Is Dreadful - And Seems Impossible.

They write that he became more and more despondent, until finally it was impossible to rouse him sufficiently to take an interest in his own life.

Faye and I have lost a friend - a real, true friend. A brother could not have been kinder, more considerate than he was to both of us always. How terribly he must have grieved over the ruin of the horse he was so proud of, and loved so well!

CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY, September, 1872.

THE heat here is still intense, and it never rains, so everything is parched to a crisp. The river is very low and the water so full of alkali that we are obliged to boil every drop before it is used for drinking or cooking, and even then it is so distasteful that we flavor it with sugar of lemons so we can drink it at all. Fresh lemons are unknown here, of course. The ice has given out, but we manage to cool the water a little by keeping it in bottles and canteens down in the dug-out cellar.

Miss Dickinson and I continue our daily rides, but go out very early in the morning. We have an orderly now, as General Dickinson considers it unsafe for us to go without an escort, since we were chased by an Indian the other day. That morning the little son of General Phillips was with us, and as it was not quite as warm as usual, we decided to canter down the sunflower road a little way - a road that runs to the crossing of Wolf Creek through an immense field of wild sunflowers. These sunflowers grow to a tremendous height in this country, so tall that sometimes you cannot see over them even when on horseback.

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